Harry Potter and the Love of a Veela
by Schittlez
Summary: Tension mounds as Harry's sixth year approaches. An unknown inheritance reveals itself, and a little bit of love comes into the picture. Speaking of which, what's up with Draco's behavior? Slash, VampireHarry and VeelaDraco. AU. ::Back up and running::
1. Vampire vs Veela: Inheritance

**I am not J.K. Rowling nor am I affiliated with her or Warner Bros. in any way. I do not make money off of this, it is written for mere enjoyment and further my writing talents.**

**Warning: Story is rated M for mature/dark themes, language, graphic violence and sexual themes. You have been warned.  
*Note: This story takes place immediately after, Order of the Phoenix. So, this story will be considered and Alternate Universe fic.**

**Harry Potter and the Love of a Veela**

**Author: Schittlez**

**Chapter 1 - Vampire vs. Veela**

_(The Inheritance)_

The extravagant manor sat on top of a massive, mossy hill. The white pavement contrasted with the dark lawn as it winded from the front of the gargantuan mound, snaking all the way up to the spacious land laid out before the enormous mansion. Flower bushes, full of coloring blossoms stood two meters tall; all were trimmed to have precise, straight outlines. The slightly moist grass was kept short, sparkling with a healthy glow. A stone fountain that was modeled after an elegant looking witch and a young, handsome wizard—laid dead center in the lawn, away from the tall, front doors of the manor. Crystal-blue water fell from the spouts that were the tips of their wands—extended high in the air—and landed without noise into the calm pool surrounding the stone figures. If the atmosphere outside the pearly, white walls represented the interior, it must have been exquisite to say the least.

And that it was. The entrance hall alone was stunning by any standards. It was a long, wide corridor, lined with golden pots, which stood on small, matching tables. Roses upon roses that were bewitched to shine as emeralds, rubies and sapphires—to beautiful to seem real almost—settled neatly in each one. There had to be at least twenty sets of flowers along each side. Crystal chandeliers hung high from a ceiling, which stood almost ten meters, and formed a center-line heading towards the greeting area. Pillars guarded the welcoming carpet on each side, stretching from the stone steps outside to the far end of the corridor inside. The fabric was colored a deep emerald, embroidered with intricately placed gold trimmings. The floor underneath that pooled out to the rest of the room was a bold black with gold, marble designs etched into the tiles.

At the end of the hall, the room rounded out and rose higher. A double staircase led to the second floor. Stairs lined with black carpet and gold railings against the walls, rested on each side and connected as they reached the second floor. On both floors, hallways to either side stretched endlessly, decorated with carefully placed greenery and statuettes.

In the middle of the greeting area stood a tall, emerald-scaled dragon that curled as it rose to the ceiling, its glowing white eyes lighting up the entire area. Its talons and the rims of its tail and spine were painted gold, as were the teeth that were revealed from its large jaws.

The features of the Malfoy Manor alone demanded the utmost respect from all that dared set foot on the grounds, let alone enter the mansion itself. However, what really grabbed the praises and respect from the visitors where the people themselves.

Lucius Malfoy was the current owner of the Malfoy Manor. He stood tall and poised with long, sleek, platinum-blonde hair, always tucked behind his ears and not a strand out of place. His eyes were a piercing, gray color. His smooth, pointed face would be handsome had it not displayed it so harshly.

His wife, Narcissa Malfoy, was by far a beauty among others. Her silky strands of golden, blonde hair swept and curled past her smooth, thin shoulders and rested mere inches above her waistline. Her dazzling, blue eyes shined like sapphires, contrasting to her pale, delicate skin. She always walked with an air as if she were gracefully gliding an inch above ground.

The son of Lucius and Narcissa was none other than Draco Scorpius Malfoy. He inherited features from both parents, more so his father than his mother. At sixteen years old, he was a spitting image of his father in fact. He was blessed with the same platinum-blonde hair that rested just an inch below his shoulders and smooth, pale skin to match. His one physical trait that was conjured by both mother and father were his piercing eyes. They were predominately gray, but were adorned with tiny specks of a cerulean color.

Outward appearances gave off an aura of stunning beauty, unmatched by any other family. They took pride in every aspect of their lives, striving to remain perfect.

That was the perfect life within Malfoy Manor…

However, such looks were always deceiving. Their family wasn't perfect because each member did not look towards the aspect of being a family as something that needed to be perfected. They were always 'too busy' to focus on something so insignificant. All were arrogant and power-hungry—Lucius more so than the other two.

As the head of the household, he demanded full obedience and accepted no less. He was always engaged with everything and everyone else, making sure the Malfoy's outward image remained untainted. He very much neglected the inward appearance.

Draco knew this. He knew his family was less than perfect, and the fact that it was made his face cringe with disgust. He had always been brought up to be flawless, obedient and powerful. He always had to come out on top, because his 'dear father' accepted no less. If such standards were not achieved, Draco's punishments were beyond imaginable. Yet, Draco still looked up to him.

He remained faithful to his father, admiring the power that glowed off of him. His father could have well been the most powerful, feared wizard in the world. The Malfoy family line was one of the longest running bloodlines to date. And yet, Lucius was not the most powerful wizard to grace the land. His father was just some lap dog for an even darker wizard.

His father was a Death Eater. He was a servant—slave was a more accurate description—to the 'great and powerful' Lord Voldemort, a wizard who was feared by all. He was feared so much, no one dared to speak his name. His servants called him the 'Dark Lord' or 'Master'. Others referred to him as 'You-know-who'.

Draco was infuriated by how much of a hypocrite his father turned out to be over the years. Lucius brought his son up to make sure he was at the top of his class and the top of his game. He was taught to bow to none of his peers. They should bow to him. And yet, here lied Draco's father, the 'respectable' Lucius, bowing and kissing the feet of another.

How could his father stoop so low? And now, where had Lucius ended up for his loyalty to his master? Why, nowhere else but Azkaban prison; a prison for condemned witches and wizards. All feared going there and all feared dying there, but that was where Draco's father was, locked up behind bars like a common criminal.

One would think that Draco should be upset with his father, upset with Voldemort no less. No, he didn't take it out on them. As angry as he was, he remained loyal to his father, and dared not to have a row with Voldemort. So who did he blame?

None other than Harry Potter.

Harry Potter—-the so-called savior of the Wizarding world. Harry Potter became famous at the age of one, when the Dark Lord himself apprehended him and attempted to murder him. Harry's parents did not survive but the young toddler did. The curse meant to kill him backfired and hit Voldemort, leaving him utterly weak and powerless. And what happened to Harry?

All he received was a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead and a credit to be marked as a legend among all wizards and witches.

He was still that famous boy, for Voldemort returned to seek revenge and the power he lost. So where did everyone turn when things got messy? Why, towards Harry of course. A teenage boy who had stood tall against Voldemort countless number of times and always managed to thwart the Dark Lord's plans.

It was that boy, with the help of another great wizard—an old, experienced man by the name of Dumbledore—who, just last year, revealed that Voldemort had indeed returned. Not only this, but they also managed to catch a handful of Death Eaters inside the Ministry of Magic-the Wizarding Government Building.

Draco's father was among those Death Eaters who were caught. So, Draco saw no reason why he shouldn't blame Harry. It was that conniving, meddlesome prat who caused all this. It was Harry's fault that Lucius was in prison, which meant that it was Harry's fault for having Narcissa, Lucius' beloved wife, left in shambles.

Knowing all this, one would ask, if the Malfoy family were having issues anyway, why would Narcissa be so devastated?

The simple answer was that she was a Veela.

Veelas were angelic-looking creatures who lived their lives searching for just one mate. Once that mate was found, they stuck by them, and loved them no matter what. They thrived on building a family and without that family created, a veela could not survive. Being a veela was the reason why Narcissa was also so extravagantly gorgeous; and it was also the reason why she was so distraught.

Days melted into weeks, and everyday Narcissa sat by the tall, oak-trimmed window in her study, staring out into space, overlooking the vast stretches of fields in the back yard. The location of the prison resting far away was in said direction. She seemed to notice nothing in particular, but perhaps hoping that one day her beloved would return.

Every day, Draco would pause at the doorway as he passed to go elsewhere and ask his mother if she needed anything, but she always silently declined with a wave of her hand and sent him on his way. Draco sighed as he entered the doorway to his quarters. He wondered if he would ever end up like that. The thought was not welcoming to say the least.

Since his mother was a Veela that made Draco half-Veela. In essence, Draco would come upon a time in his life where his Veela inheritance would come and change his life forever. His beauty, enchanted by a powerful allurement, would be recognized by all, making him seem irresistible, yet untouchable.

And that time had come for Draco. His allurement charms and sense of yearning for his mate kicked in the moment he turned sixteen in April. Yet they remained weak until the inheritance that was passed from mother to son occurred during the summer after he returned home from school. So now, not only was Draco stuck without a father and left with a moping mother, he now had an undying urge to flee from the manor in search of his mate.

The part that infuriated him most of all was that all of those troubling aspects were out of his grasp. He could not bring his father back, meaning his mother would remain tragically depressed and the one hope of happiness left could not be attained until he left the manor.

Draco slammed his fist on the wall beside the door to his chambers before advancing and falling on top of his elegant, four-poster bed. The velvet comforter was a silky, navy blue with a marble design of a sky-blue color sewn in the fabric. Matching curtains hung from the posts surrounding the thick, cozy mattress. He glanced over at the white marble-trimmed, stone fireplace, a crackling fire readying the room for the cool, summer night—the castle-like walls creating a drafty effect not matter what time of the year.

A relaxing idea, to allow Draco's mind to escape from everything, came into play just as he pulled his head back against the silk-lined pillows and closed his sleepy eyes. 'I know what would help…'

In fact it always helped. Immediately sliding off the bed and strolling over to the silver door that lay right next to it, Draco entered and sighed with satisfaction as he gazed around the room…

The breathtaking bathroom was lined with silvers and greens, reminding him of his home away from home, as were the furnishings. The silver-rimmed stone sink had an elegant, emerald countertop that stretched from one wall to the next. Over to the right was a dark-green futon with silver railings. And lying right next to it on the opposite wall from the doorway was a silver-rimmed, emerald-lined tub that stretched at least three meters long. It was an in-ground bathtub with ten matching faucets-five on each side. With a flick of Draco's wrist the faucets automatically began pouring out crystal-clear water.

Draco smirked at his ability to cast wandless magic. It wasn't an easily attainable skill, but his Veela inheritance helped with the factor a little. Still, the amount of very minor spells he could cast in that manner he could count with just his two hands.

Two faucets, one on each side and set in the middle of the two rows of five, began to deposit a milky-white substance. He started to undress. His black slacks, matching trousers, silver tie and white, button blouse slid soundlessly to the floor. His lean form went to retrieve the items and folded them neatly, placing them on the countertop. The taut, chiseled muscles in his smooth back and flat, defined stomach contracted with the slightest movement as he strolled over towards the awaiting bath water.

Grabbing an emerald, cotton towel on his journey there, he placed it on the floor before slipping his feet into the depths of the pearl-colored water. Slowly sinking into the scalding hot liquid, Draco could already feel the troubles slip away like the water between his fingers. Leaning back against the rim, he felt the edges of his silvery-blonde hair soak with him. The scent was intoxicating as silver vapors rose to his nose. As he inhaled the aroma, a sense of blissful dizziness consumed him and he let it take over; just as he let the substance surrounding him soak into his pale skin.

Yes, this was a good idea…

And just as the water started to still around his motionless form, the flat surface began to ripple once more as Draco was startled—startled by a haunting vision.

It was a person, but not just any person. He could feel it running through his veins. He felt as if their presence was right in front of him, in the tub—accompanying him.

It's them! his mind shrieked as he furiously shook his head to clear it. It was his mate. This feeling only occurred when they were experiencing a terribly strong emotion. And Draco could feel exactly what emotions his mate was going through at that moment.

Hate, hurt, anger, a sinful desire for revenge…

Whatever his mate was going through right now, it was causing them to suffer. Draco clenched his fist, slamming it into the water, splashing it over the edge. It spread on the tile floor and just barely missed his towel.

His eyes grew stormy-gray with cold rage. How dare they? Whoever was doing this to his beloved would pay dearly.

Then, Draco suddenly snapped himself back into reality. Veela or not, a Malfoy did not lose control. Besides, there was nothing he could do to resolve the problem. Even feeling his mate's emotions was not enough to find them; not when he was stuck here, at the Manor. _Very soon_, he thought to himself, _I will find you_. Just wait until I return to school.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was the school he had been attending since he was eleven. Draco would be entering his sixth year there. He knew he would find the one within those castle walls when he returned. Draco had knowledge of this because along with the desperate pull in his heart, he caught the faint scent of his mate, floating through the air during the end of his fifth year. However, he had no time to search for that special someone—being it was the end of term—and reluctantly agreed to find them when he returned in September, when he had more time and his inheritance was already received.

Draco sighed and settled himself deeper into the water until he was submerged neck-high, his hair swimming around his face. With a deep, shaky breath, he regained himself and was forced to relax once more.

Closing his eyes and leaning his head back once more, Draco slowly nodded off with endless visions of emerald green jewels smiling at him.

* * *

The door to Harry Potter's bedroom was shut with an ear-splitting SLAM! Harry just stared at the door, his emerald eyes blazing with hate, anger and hurt. A foreboding need to seek revenge upon his so-called 'family' rumbled in the pit of his stomach. He despised being here, but he was stuck without a choice. He heard the deadbolt on the other side of his door click into place and, with a steady jingle of keys, heard his Uncle Vernon stomp through the hallway, threatening to shake the pictures off his small desk.

Harry huffed in defeat for the millionth time that day, but immediately regretted it when an all-too-familiar pain rippled through his ribs. He hissed in response as he slowly stood up, taking careful strides to the small, shabby wardrobe closet that lay beside the bedroom door. Pulling open one of the double, wooden doors, a body-length mirror was revealed. Immediately, yet gingerly, he raised his over-sized, flannel T-shirt that used to belong to his whale of cousin, Dudley.

Purple and black blotches were etched in his skin over his ribs, matching the marks that lay in patches, over his face. The areas around the bruises were red as cherries. Harry growled at his reflection, hating these painful reminders that no matter what happened, he would have to stay within the depressing walls of ugly, chipping, yellow wallpaper. Such a room was far too small for a fifteen year-old—sixteen to be exact once tomorrow arrived.

Focusing on the bruises again, he cautiously slid the shirt over his tanned, toned stomach. Underneath all the baggy garments was a pretty decent, tone figure, but his size still seemed too small for his age. If he kept this up, he would be blown off his own broomstick the next time he tried to fly. The reason was simply because he was malnourished and forced to slave around the house all day. In fact, his task of doing daily chores was the cause of his newly sustained injuries.

He was walking into his aunt and uncle's house after a few, long hours of lawn work underneath the sweltering, summer sun. After performing chores like that was the only time he wished to be inside. However, getting caught up thinking about returning to his real home, he never paid any mind to the dirt that was encrusted underneath his worn sneakers.

His enraged aunt, Petunia Dursley, immediately shrieked and cried over her tile floors, ordering him to thoroughly sweep and mop the entire kitchen floor before dinner. His eyes shot daggers of green ice, but he reluctantly obeyed nonetheless. Successfully sweeping up the contents, Harry was relieved his job was halfway through. But his dear-ol' cousin, Dudley, had other plans in mind. He waddled into the kitchen on an expedition for a hefty snack to settle his appetite before dinner, and just so happened to notice the bucket of mopping water that was lying behind Harry.

Without hesitation, Dudley knocked it over with his stubby, elephant shaped foot. Water spread all over the kitchen and even started soaking into the carpet of the connected living room area. Of course perfect, iddle Duddikins didn't get the blame. He never did. Harry was the one who had to answer to his uncle.

Vernon, who was sitting at the table with a cup of tea, shot up, knocking over his teacup and its contents. With pure hatred gleaming in his eyes and his face growing more purple by the second, he forcefully knocked Harry in between his shoulder blades with a shaking fist. Since the abrupt attack went unsuspected, a vulnerable and unprepared Harry fell—face first—onto the floor. His uncle bent over him and grabbed Harry by his raven-colored hair.

Violently yanking Harry's head back in a rather uncomfortable angle, his uncle yelled forcefully in his ear, "You will mop up every drop of water from this kitchen floor and carpet even if you have to suck it up with this unruly, detestable excuse you have for hair." Then after slamming Harry's face into the floor, Uncle Vernon rolled him onto his back and pressed his incredibly large, wide foot deep into Harry's chest. "Do I make myself clear boy!?" Harry could only reply with a weak nod, no air available in his lungs.

After roughly pushing his foot off of Harry's chest, Vernon growled all the way back to the table, cursing the teenager for making him spill his tea, and Harry struggled to pull himself back up to proceed cleaning again. Somehow, and he still didn't know how such a miracle could happen, Harry managed to clean the entire mess, even get the water up out of the carpet; but it was finished well after dinner. Harry guessed it was quite easily after eleven o' clock by the time he had finished.

His uncle would not permit him to leave until the carpet was completely dry. And once that was accomplished, Uncle Vernon grabbed him roughly by the collar, a small plate of food in his other hand and marched Harry straight up to his small, sorry excuse for a bedroom, which was where he sat now.

Resting on the short, dirty mattress, Harry yearned for the next month to go by as quickly as humanly possible. Then, September 1st would arrive and he could return to Hogwarts, his real home. He was fed-up with having to be trapped in his own bedroom, like a prisoner. Now I know how Sirius felt…

But the immediate thought of his godfather didn't brighten his spirits any. The reason behind that was because he could no longer get in contact with his only true, remaining family member whenever he was feeling worried or depressed—-or just needed some comforting advice. His godfather was gone.

Dead.

The word still rang in Harry's mind like an unstoppable bell caught in a pendulum. Harry never thought he would have to fit the words 'Sirius' and 'dead' in one sentence. But that one dreadful phrase kept floating in his mind… Sirius was dead.

Harry forced away the burning tears that threatened to surface like so many other times he recalled the memory of his godfather. Hell, for those short, two years that Harry knew him, Sirius was a father to Harry. The father Harry never had.

Harry couldn't rest upon those thoughts right now. He wouldn't. He had to be strong; but why did that concept seem more impossible as the days progressed? Blinking away the last traces of excess moisture beneath his lids, Harry glanced at the clock on his bedside. It barely worked, considering how old the poor thing was-—the green numbers kept blinking—but it was still functional. At the moment it was blinking 11:59 pm. That meant just one more minute until July 31st. Harry's sixteenth birthday.

_Yeah right_, Harry scoffed to himself. _Happy birthday to me… yippee_.

And as if his thoughts transferred from his brain to the clock resting on the shabby desk, the clock immediately changed, now blinking 12:00 am within the screen. Harry expected to feel nothing. He never really did when his birthday approached because it was during the summer, when he was stuck at the Dursleys.

Something was different about this birthday, though.

As if on cue, immediately after the clock's face changed, something within Harry started to constrict.

Pain was searing through his chest, and the cause was not due to his recent bruises. This pain was more internal, wrapped around his very heart. Harry collapsed on the floor in agony, unable to move, as the unbearable sensation spread through his bloodstream like wildfire right down to the tips of his capillaries. His blood felt like molten lava as if it would burn through his skin any second. What the hell! Harry screamed inside his head, hoping his body would answer.

"What's… h-hap-happening to m-me!" Harry choked out, but it wasn't his voice that escaped his lips. It exploded like a deep, animalistic growl.

He struggled to crawl to his wardrobe closet. His fingers clawed at the wooden floor beneath him. It was only then that he realized his fingers were sprouting bloody, razor-like nails beneath his original, stubby ones. They slowly pierced through his skin; every millimeter that extended sent another searing pain hissing through his body. But he desperately needed to see what was happening. Even now, he could feel his body twitching in horrible angles and positions as it started some strange metamorphosis.

Panting uncontrollably, his lungs begging to cave in, he finally reached the open door to his wardrobe closet. He gazed at the bottom of the mirror, his reflection staring back at him, and it terrified him.

His eyes were bloodshot-red!

Not the veins in his eyes, but his eyes—in their entirety—were glowing red.

Before being able to fathom what was happening, a seething, immense jolt of pressure exploded inside his head, pounding against his scar. He growled in blinding agony and collapsed right where he lay—unconscious to the rest of the world.

And immediately after he did so, the clock started blinking 12:01...

* * *

Draco Malfoy immediately bolted upright in his bed.

The silk sheets and linen pajamas stuck to his skin with every movement. To say he was startled was an understatement. He couldn't even fathom it—the devastating nightmare he was startled awake from. Was it a nightmare? It couldn't be. He was feeling that familiar tug once more. It was a desperate pull, but a pull for what?

For help?

Draco immediately clutched his hand to his chest and glanced at his bedside clock. The silver, sparkling numbers informed him that it was 12:01 am. Desperate to control himself once more, he collected his breaths before doing anything further.

It had to be his mate; there was no other explanation. However, they were experiencing an insurmountable bit of pain, almost like they were dying. He experienced this horrible phenomenon in his sleep as if he was going through the torture himself. His own veins almost burned to the core.

Then, as soon as it happened, it stopped just as abruptly. This was the aspect that scared him even more. His mate's signal didn't slowly fade away as it normally would. It was if it just vanished into thin air. Where was his mate? He felt helpless for not being by their side this very moment, but there was nothing else he could do. For the moment, he could do nothing but wait.

Straightening his hair back into place, Draco settled himself completely onto the mattress once more. He turned on his side and gave a tremendous sigh, which felt more like a shudder, as he regained himself and fell into a restless sleep…

…To Be Continued…

**Reviews are what keep me alive in this fanfic world. I died once, I will not die again (looks maniacally at the review button)… you know you wanna push it! Oh, and flames will be used to roast my s'mores. I dare you! Roast my marshmallows, damnit! o.O**

**Slythindor: Excuse her… she's unstable.**

**Tiger Heart: Hey look! My muse finally decided to join us (hugs Slythindor)**

**Slythindor: Let go of me you crazy wench! Go tackle Gryfferin!**

**Tiger Heart: (sniff sniff)…**

**Slythindor: Don't you dare!**

**Gryfferin: (enters room) did someone summon me?**

**Slythindor: See! There he is (shoves Tiger Heart over to Gryfferin)**

**Tiger Heart: (looks up at Grifferin) Will you roast my marshmallows?**

**Gryfferin: HUH!**

**Tiger Heart: Credit for inspiring me to incorporate half-veela/Draco and vampire/Harry goes to:**

**-Magnetic Attraction (written by: Frizzy - you go girl! She was my original inspiration)**

**-Milk is My Sugar (written by: Michael Serpent – RIP, you were a gift to the writing world and there are those who will never forget you, me included.)**

**-Family Secrets, Hidden Desires (written by: VirginSuicide – Never finished but she inspired me to incorporate the Vampire/Harry. And who doesn't love a vampire?)**

**-A Song, Unsung (written by: Well, I forgot her author name. If the author is reading this right now, let me know so I can give credit where it's due. Personally her story is ultimately amazing and dark! She is superb at writing and isn't afraid to express her opinions. There's so much I can say about it but I gotta cut this short. Just read it for yourself. Lots of morbid goodness in there too! Not for the faint at heart.)**


	2. Vampire vs Veela: Goodbyes

**Harry Potter and the Love of a Veela**

**Chapter 2 - Vampire vs. Veela**

_(Goodbyes)_

By: Schittlez

Harry's limp form was spread-eagle on the worn, ragged throw rug that lay in the middle of his room. The afternoon sun reflected off of the digital alarm clock, resting on a chipped wooden desk, next to Harry's bed. The current time was 7:45 pm and already the sun's golden yellow rays were darkening, turning crimson as they settled lower on the horizon. The remaining light of the dying day gently caressed Harry's relaxed features. They brushed over his brow and then his eyelids before blanketing his entire face in its warmth. The welcome feeling settled him even more as he fell into a deeper slumber, until-

_BANG, BANG, BANG! _"Harry _Potter_! I demand you answer _at once_!"

Slowly Harry's eyelids uncovered his blazing emerald orbs. A translucent, blood-colored tint wrapped over them like a thin, filmy substance before finally fading away. His dilated pupils finally contracted—the first sign of him regaining consciousness. Steadily, his eyelids lowered once more, blinking away moisture and sleep-developed crust.

'_What a dream…'_

_BANG, BANG, BANG!_ "I know you're in there _boy_. Now get up! You've had your punishment long enough. Get down here and clean this kitchen, _now_!"

'_And I wake up to find myself living in a nightmare…'_

A dry, ragged groan rumbled in Harry's throat as he carefully pulled his head away from the floor; a bad idea at the moment. It felt as if prickly, little thorn-berries were dancing around inside his skull, numbing his—already paralyzed—head. At least, that's what it felt like.

What was going on? He could faintly hear his uncle shouting out demands from outside his door. That was no surprise. But why was he spread out on the floor? Why did he ache so much?

He heard the _click_ of the locks outside his door as he desperately tried to form a reply but the words wouldn't surface. His throat hurt too much. It felt cracked, almost to the point of peeling away. Immediately, he struggled to wet his tongue and lick his lips. Once moistened, he managed to swallow. Feeling this was enough to sound out a decent reply, Harry was about to speak but found that his uncle was already stomping away down the staircase.

Knowing he was expected there within no less than a few minutes, Harry's struggle to stand had begun. He wondered why such a simple task could prove to be so arduous. His legs felt as if they held no bones at all—just jelly—and to add to the list of bodily tortures, his whole upper half felt like someone just tossed a couple of five-hundred pound weights on each shoulder.

Now the word 'weird' could hardly tread ground on explaining how Harry felt at that moment, but it was the only word he could think of. No, wait. There was 'pain' and 'hunger'. Definitely hunger. However they all fit into the category of 'weird' because he had no clue why he was experiencing such forms of stress. He hadn't eaten since yesterday morning, so he could explain the hunger part…

… Or maybe he couldn't. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something wasn't right with the way his stomach seemed to rumble. It felt like it had a mind of its own—and it knew what it wanted. The problem was it seemed to be keeping it from Harry. What was he hungry for anyway? He didn't feel like he desired any form of food, but that couldn't be right. What else could his body possibly crave?

Nevertheless, Harry still had his chores to comply with so he put the ache inside his abdomen aside and prepared to stand. He slapped a shaky hand on the desk top beside him. His whole body trembled violently from the strain of being put to use so soon. However, Harry didn't have a choice. His face cringed with pain as he was finally able to put weight onto his feet. Using the desk for support, Harry stopped himself from moving any further and took this opportunity to rest for a moment. He used his unoccupied hand to rub the back of his neck and work out some kinks that had manifested. All the while he took no notice to the lengthy locks of hair that collapsed over his hand and fell many inches past his shoulders.

Then, he dropped his hand and started to steady himself, slowly weaning away from the desk.

'_Alright, real progress_,' he scoffed to himself. '_If I keep up this pace, I'm sure I'll make it to the kitchen by this time, next year_!' It was a slow process but he was definitely gaining his strength back. The strenuous task to walk had begun as he slowly lifted his hand away from the desktop and held his arms out—one to each side—to balance his way over to the door.

But when he had finally managed to wobble at least halfway across his room, his body just wouldn't have it. It gave away and let gravity yank him back to the ground, causing him to collapse on his hands and knees.

Why the hell did he feel so weak? All the strain pushing on his nerves was starting to get a little agitating. Harry tightly closed his eyes and drew in a few deep breaths, already feeling winded. He then pulled his eyelids ajar and let his gaze fall onto his hands—his blood-covered hands.

"What the hell?" he thought out loud. "When did I start bleeding?"

But he wasn't bleeding any longer. In fact, he found no scars, no incision, no scrapes to indicate his hands had been injured. All he saw was the thin blanket of the crimson fluid, dried out and flaking off with every movement. His eyes wandered curiously over his palms, the back of his hands and finally over his pointed nails, extending past his fingertips by an inch at the least.

'_Wait a minute… nails!'_

Harry gawked at them, his face contorted in confusion. Since when the hell did he have nails?—Long and razor sharp to be exact. Curiosity getting the best of him, he began running them gently along his skin until…

_'Damnit!'_

Harry glanced at the neat incision he accidentally created on top of his left forearm. The red fluid began to swell out of the wound before sliding over his strangely-pale skin. And since when was his skin so light? Harry's skin was supposed to be tan, not pale—almost moon-pale in his opinion. Why on earth was his body so different all of a sudden? It was as if he switched bodies with another. Nothing looked familiar, not even in the slightest way.

He absent-mindedly ran his fingertip carefully along the wound and dabbed at the blood seeping out of it, spooning it onto his finger. The look of it alone struck a nerve deep within Harry's mind and it took every bit of strength he had—which wasn't much—not to actually lick his wound clean. But his stomach pained at the sight of the wine-colored liquid. It growled with an undying hunger.

And that's when something hit him. That's when Harry slowly started to realize what this whole ordeal might be about. He crawled as fast as he was able and stopped when he reached his wardrobe closet. He threw the right-side door open, almost breaking it away from the hinges and nearly screamed when he saw the figure that was supposedly his reflection.

His emerald eyes stared back at him, glazed with confusion but also blazing with something unknown. His pale face was chiseled, a little more defined. He carefully ran his fingertips over his new facial features, exploring every detail that was not there before.

That was when he noticed a slight lump just underneath his lips. It didn't feel like a bruise of any sort, just something hiding behind them. Harry slowly parted his lips and immediately snapped his mouth shut when he found the new addition to his row of teeth.

'_No… it can't be! How the hell did this happen?_'

He didn't want to believe it, he refused. But as he further gazed at and examined his features looking back at him, his whole form slowly faded, leaving no trace of him within the mirror.

"Long nails, pale skin, desire for blood, razor fangs and no reflection…" Harry mumbled the checklist and added them all up. Harry wasn't stupid—in his opinion, only a muggle with a negative IQ would not be able to realize what he had turned into. The only questions remaining were, how? Why?

One thing was for sure. He couldn't stay at the Dursley's any longer this summer. Besides, if they found him looking like this, they would probably kick him out without another thought, family bond or not. Not even a million howlers could force them to agree to let him remain at their home. Harry had to escape fast. He had no choice.

Immediately, he crawled with all the strength he was able and gathered his things. He fumbled a bit as he tried to move around and pull what little clothes he had out of his closet, but within minutes Harry found himself able to stand if he focused well enough. After the little amount of luggage—his trunk full of clothes, books and supplies and most importantly, his wand—was all packed, he dragged all his belongings over to the window. Luckily, it wasn't barred anymore like when he was held prisoner in this very room during the summer before his second year at Hogwarts.

He silently thanked Merlin that Hedwig was camping out at Hermione's for the summer—one less thing for him to haul. Besides, as many death threats as his uncle threw at his loyal companion, Harry was afraid for the owl's life if it were to remain at the Dursley's residence.

He strenuously pried the window opened and tried to lean forward with his luggage as much as possible to cause the least amount of racket when his trunk fell. Pressed against the sill as far as he was able, he dropped the trunk and watched it fall with little noise into the flower bushes below.

'_Aunt Petunia's not going to be happy about that one._'

With a quick pause to make sure the drop didn't cause any commotion downstairs, Harry proceeded to swing his leg through the opening, followed by the other. He slipped over the sill and landed beside his luggage, overlooking how effortless it felt and quickly brushing himself off.

He could have sworn he heard Uncle Vernon bellow through the house—stomping up to Harry's room to scold him for not obeying, no less. Indeed, Vernon barged in without warning and noticed an unoccupied room and an open window. But by the time he put two and two together and raced to the window to catch sight of their 'escaped convict', Harry was already around front, tearing down the streets and out of sight.

* * *

Outside, Draco's appearance was no different than it was any other day. His midnight-blue attire accented his pale features, causing them to stand out beautifully. His platinum-blonde hair, having let it steadily grow out, was neatly pulled back into a simple, matching hair band—not a strand out of place. He was at his usual setting at the dining table. The gorgeous, cherry-oak furniture stretched well over twenty meters. It held fifty chairs on each side and one chair at each end. The end farthest from the entrance doors was the head chair, reserved only for the head of the household. The wife, Narcissa, sat to his right, which left Draco to sit across from her to the left of his father.

In a solitary state, he sat eating his dinner too neatly to be considered enjoyable. His mother would be doing the same if she hadn't secluded herself to the confines of her study as usual. He held some small sympathy for her, understanding her predicament quite well. He held similar emotions for a certain significant other where he had no clue as to their whereabouts.

He kept his outward appearance in check though—back straight, shoulders squared, chin tilted slightly upward and a calm, emotionless expression masked his face. Inside however, he was a nervous wreck. Ever since his disturbing encounter with his mate's emotions last night, Draco had been left feeling worried and confused. He received no more signals from his destined mate and he was distraught with the idea that something dreadful might have happened to them.

'_I'll find you,_' Draco mentally vowed to the unknown. '_I won't rest until I have found you and made you mine._'

All his thoughts ended rather abruptly, however, by an ear-piercing scream that felt like it shook the very walls that surrounded him. He knew that voice anywhere and to hear it wail so painfully wrenched his very heart. Without warning, Draco bolted out of his seat, knocking his chair onto the stone floor, and dashed out into the halls in a very un-Malfoyish manner. Sweat began to seep out of his pores and bead across his forehead, gluing his platinum-blonde locks to the flustered skin of his face. He hurried past the portraits in the west wing, racing to his mother's quarters.

The life-sized paintings of his ancestors towered over him as he flew by them. Some gaped at his behavior, some 'tsked' their head in shame. Others either tried to fuse their palms against their ears to tune out the shrieking or remained standing proud, deciding not to care.

Narcissa's cries faded within a manner of seconds, causing her son to fall deeper into a black hole of doubt. So, Draco began to leap up the stairs to the second floor—Narcissa's wing—with only one thought and destination in mind. With unknown strength that went unnoticed, Draco threw open the double doors to his mother's study, tearing them away from their golden hinges. All types of questionable explanations ran through his head as to why his mother was just screaming for her life. But the real reason was far from expected.

There was nothing in this universe that could have prepared him for the sight he was witnessing. It was so horrific, it was unfathomable. He stood paralyzed, his feet nailed to the wooden floor. His breathing ceased to flow and his heart shut down completely.

Or at least, that's how he felt. The emotions were so strong and the picture that lay before him was so unbelievably terrifying, he felt like death had already stolen his soul, leaving behind a freezing, hollow shell of a young man.

He felt so cold in fact, that he almost screamed when his Veela instincts seared with a blood-boiling desire to stop what was happening before him. It was as if he snapped and lost all touch with reality.

But there was his mother—what was left of her—lying helpless on the ground, decaying into a mass of putrid sludge. Her cries had died out, her lungs having almost completely dissolved, along with the rest of her chest. But her mouth still hung open, gaped in shock and horror.

Normally, Malfoys represented emotionless beings to the fullest but the Veela in Draco wouldn't have it. It burned with the desire to love his family—no matter how dysfunctional—and the fire had been immensely strong since his inheritance. The instincts he had been trying to fight against for so long broke through as he ran over to his mother and collapsed onto his knees, hovering over Narcissa.

"Mother?" He forced out a weak inquiry to get her attention.

He had no idea what to do. Should he even touch her? By now, her form was a black, slimy mass in the shape of what used to be her beautiful body. Her eyes remained, although they were red with malice. Her fingertips were the only body parts that looked remotely human as they too began to rot away.

It was finally hitting him. As Narcissa drew in a deep, final gasp of air, Draco realized that his mother was dying. His exterior appeared as solid as steel and cold as ice but inside, he was trembling with fear.

Why? Why had his mother so suddenly met her demise? How could such a powerful witch be brought down in a manner of moments by what seemed to be absolutely nothing at all? Draco slammed his fist on the wooden floor, angry at himself for not knowing.

Malfoys were supposed to know everything!

His drew his hands up, dripping with his mother's remains and ferociously grabbed his hair, seconds from almost ripping it out.

And as soon as he started beating himself up, an electric current zapped his nerves and charged his mind with the only possible answer. The only reason someone so powerful could seem so weak… Narcissa, like Draco, had Veela blood coursing through her veins. And there was only one thing that could so quickly cause his mother to die like this…

Lucius was gone…

**_... To be continued..._**

**I apologize for a short chapter… The next one will definitely be longer because that's when the plot begins so trust me, you won't be disappointed! I have my muses to thank for that. (Looks at Slythindor and Grifferin)…**

**Slythindor: (Snore)….**

**Gryfferin: ZZzzzZZZzzz**

**Tiger Heart: Aww… poor things… I've worked them into exhaustion… (slaps them both upside their heads) wake up, we have more chapters to write!**

**Gryfferin: Ah! Ok, ok! I'm up!**

**Slythindor: (mumbles)… go away wench…**

**Tiger Heart: grrrr…. -.- (bonks him on the head with the fifth Harry Potter book-hard cover copy)**

**Slythindor: (seeing stars)… x.x**

**Gryfferin: (looks at unconscious muse on the floor, tail twitching in agony) … did you have to hit him with the fifth book? That's the biggest one…!**

**Tiger Heart: (duh expression) … well that's what I was going for!**

**Gryfferin: But if he's unconscious, who's gonna help you with all the angst in the next chapter (shudders at the thought)**

**Tiger Heart: Well… I didn't think about that.**

**Gryfferin: So if he's out cold (dreamy-eyed) then the next chapter will be full of fluff! Yay! (Skips around throwing flower petals everywhere)**

**Tiger Heart: O.o (slaps Slythindor madly) wake up damn you! Wake up!**


	3. Vampire vs Veela: Endings and Beginnin...

**Harry Potter and the Love of a Veela**

**Chapter 3 - Vampire vs. Veela**

(_Endings and Beginnings_)

By: Schittlez

**August 1st**

The London back-alleys were menacing this time of night. Dark, storm clouds rumbled above creating a gloomy, eerie aura upon the wasted areas of the populated city. The winds began to howl and would eventually pick up throughout the night. Bonfires that were scattered around and conjured up in trash bins began to dim as a thick mist lightly showered upon them. Shadows grew thicker, chasing away the only source of light the residents of the alley relied on during the long nights. They huddled closer to each other against the concrete walls of decrepit buildings. They could feel the darkness. It was thick in the air, swirling and collecting around one shadowed figure in particular.

He remained unseen but his presence was strong. Strong enough to give muggles that spine-chilling feeling that raised the hairs on the back of their necks when they can almost 'swear' something unnatural was about. They gazed up and down the back roads in wonder, but he still remained unseen.

The figure continued to stride down the damp streets for quite some time—clutching his cloak tighter to him—and finally paused in front of a wooden door to one of the worn buildings. He glanced to his right, his left and then behind before sticking his hand out from underneath the cloth and twisting the door knob that led into the Leaky Cauldron. He forced it open to make it appear as though the wind itself threatened to break it open; but the loud entrance was paid no mind by the busy tavern's host and guests, who were all too involved with one another.

The invisible intruder began to sneak past the thick crowd as best he could, occasionally bumping into others and ducking to let them pin the blame on a visible figure. He swept behind the counter while a lonely gentleman, who—although visible—was also unnoticed by all, walked over and shut the door. A worn key hanging alongside others that belonged to vacant rooms was lifted into the air. It appeared to levitate off its hook before suddenly disappearing.

The sound of careful footsteps went unnoticed by the ground floor occupants of the bar and tavern, due to the loud noise; but as they reached the first floor landing, they grew louder down the silent, empty corridors. The sound stopped in front of a door labeled with a number that matched the key stolen from downstairs. What appeared to be an amputated hand floating near the door handle, with key in place, inserted the small tool and unlocked the door.

Then, the hand was let down, disappearing with the key once more and the sound of footsteps entered the empty room before the door was slowly and quietly closed…

Harry Potter collapsed on the wooden floor with a loud 'thud' before he tore his invisibility cloak off of him in a huff and threw it on the four-poster. He silently gazed at the key he swiped downstairs as it was held firmly by his left hand. After sitting in solitude for a few minutes, he casually stood up and locked the door before placing the key in a drawer of a dusty nightstand that rested beside the entrance.

Then, he returned to his spot on the ground and sat there, one leg folded over the other, with nothing in mind. Actually, he had what felt like millions of thoughts coursing through the nerves of his brain, but they were so incomprehensible that his mind felt completely empty. Harry didn't know what to think or say. The events from today alone were too much to understand. He held so many questions inside that seemed to have no answers. And his frustration was growing to the point where he could almost yell down the very walls that surrounded him.

He banged his fist on the creaking wood beneath him and growled in anger. Why him? Why did everything have to happen to him? Now he was alone, truly alone. No one would want to be within fifty feet of him once they discovered what he had transformed into. He lifted his fingers and ran them across the ivory blades in his mouth and his face contorted into rage when he realized they weren't going to go away. He looked at his hands—his pale hands—and wanted to wish them away as well.

The fury inside swelled to the point where even physical pain began to manifest in the pit of his stomach…

… No, wait… That pain was something else. It was burning from his very core and Harry was afraid of what it meant. If he truly was what he thought he was, he would die right there on the spot because there was no way in hell he was going to do the unthinkable to relinquish the hunger.

"No!" He growled to himself as he clenched his stomach and fell into a fetal position. "I won't do it!" But the hunger began to tear at his insides; it felt like it threatened to split his stomach open. Harry growled even louder, but the voice was not his own. It was deeper and malicious, like the night before. He sounded like a wild animal ready to kill the next 'thing' it spotted. However, what little willpower was left begged for Harry to hold on. The last thing he needed to do was take the life of another. He didn't care what he had turned into; killing was not going to be a part of the solution—not if Harry had anything to do with it.

Still, the pain was immense and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold out much longer. Unconsciousness threatened to consume him, and he—no his body more like it—knew that was not a good idea. It just _knew_ he was doomed if that were to happen. So, he struggled to stay awake, to formulate a plan to ease the stress. But as no ideas came about, Harry felt himself grow weaker, slipping into the darkness.

* * *

Remus Lupin quietly sat away from the other guests of the Leaky Cauldron. His friendless form was seated right next to the front entrance and, unsurprisingly, no one sat near. He knew that his new reputation of being a creature unlike them would arouse rejection, probably from the fear stirring inside the other wizards and witches. It was so thick, as if they were trying to live in their own world and fuse together whilst thinking that ignoring him would cause him to repel.

However, even though they thought their plan was working, Remus knew better. The only reason was because he himself chose not to meddle. He was used to being a solitary man now. Years of being separated from all people one cared about held the ability to create a person as such and would do so, if permitted. He welcomed the feeling, although it felt cold at times…

… Or maybe it was the sudden burst of wind that caused him to shiver slightly. He glanced to his right and noticed the entrance door to the tavern burst open with a mighty gust of wind following behind it. The others simply waved it off, believing the wind to be the culprit. Remus on the other hand wasn't too sure. He knew he caught a whiff of something familiar, but couldn't pinpoint it as it began to disappear and blend with the scents of others.

In any case, he slid backwards in his seat and rose from the table to shut the wooden door; but as he turned his head to shield it from the biting rain, his perceptive eyes caught a small figure in mid-air.

Was that a _key_? Impossible! But there it began to float, casually gliding around before disappearing into thin air near the stairwell to the second floor.

Remus faced the exact direction of the key and scanned the stairway with his nose. He strode by others trying to pick up anything. He reached the slightly rickety steps, away from the mass of late-night visitors, and grabbed a hold of the same scent that passed him at the front entrance.

'_It couldn't be!_' he yelled to himself. It couldn't be him. The person he suspected was an utter fool if they had indeed pulled this stunt. Knowing this person, however, Remus knew it was possible.

"Just like his dad," he muttered before 'tsk-ing' at the mischievous performance. He trailed behind the smell, keeping his distance as he snaked around corners and stalked the invisible figure, training his nose right on them. But wait… if this really was who he thought it was then why did their scent alter? Could it be…?

Had it happened already?

Remus needed to find out. His cursed himself for pausing to collects his thoughts as the scent of the person he was trailing began to fade. He rushed around the corner in time to see a door at the other end of the hall shut into place. When he reached it, he heard the 'click' of a lock but the thumping he heard afterwards made him anxious to see what was happening inside.

Muttering a quick unlocking spell, Remus wasted no time in trying to discover what was on the other side. What he saw had confirmed his fears and he wish they hadn't.

There laid his late friend's son, on the ground, writhing in agony. He had hoped it wouldn't have started so soon. Remus should have informed Harry of what the young wizard was when the boy discovered that he, Harry's father and Sirius were the best of friends. Yes, the end of Harry's third year at Hogwarts would have been a perfect time; but back then it didn't seem like it. Still, beating himself up for not meeting up with the boy sooner in reference to the matter was not going to help. Remus had to focus on relieving the whimpering teenager.

He quickly hovered over the boy and was in awe at how hard Harry was trying to hold back the raging instincts that had manifested. His father James wasn't able to control it quite as well after his first transformation.

Poor, Harry.

His mouth was gaped open, letting out silent cries—his fangs exposed and elongated to the fullest. His claws dug into the wood beneath him as he tossed and turned. Remus desperately tried to bring the boy back to his senses, long enough for him to help Harry at least.

"Harry," Remus called out, shaking his shoulders. "Harry, listen to me. You're gonna be just fine. Just relax, okay?" But Remus already knew Harry was starting to fade away. He had to get him to respond or else he would surely die. Slowly but surely Harry responded to man's calls. Lying on his side, he turned his head towards the ceiling and gazed at his past professor; but something was wrong about his gaze.

What happened next occurred at the speed of light.

A deep growl erupted in Harry's throat; and with inhuman strength, Harry lunged up and threw Lupin against the wall, pinning him there. His mouth was shut but his fangs were long enough to protrude past his bottom lip. Harry's eyes burned red with hunger—he knew nothing else—and his mouth was shut no longer as he extended his jaws ready to strike.

During this time, Remus was mustering up every ounce of strength he had within himself waiting for this moment of weakness—the moment when Harry was giving in to the hunger.

With a loud roar, Lupin pushed against Harry with all his might and didn't stop until they reached the other end of the room, slamming the teenage boy against the opposite wall. He slammed as hard as he was able; knowing normally he wouldn't do such a thing to Harry, but at that moment this being before him was not Potter.

The force knocked a slight bit of wind out of the young wizard and caused him to stumble for just a second, if that—but that was all Lupin needed. With a quick wave of his wand, he threw a binding spell at the boy, rendering him unable to do anything but stand where he was, against the wall—almost attached to it, it seemed.

Now, the focus needed to be bringing the 'real' Harry back into control. Remus walked up to him and hollered, demanding Harry's attention. "Harry, snap _out_ of it! You must!" He added a back-hand slap across the cheek for emphasis.

Harry sneered for just a millisecond and Lupin wouldn't have caught it if he weren't looking. But right after, Harry's eyes slowly faded from red to green and Harry Potter was back in control of his own body.

"That's good…" Remus uttered slowly with a sigh. He looked at the boy questioningly. "Harry, are you with me?"

Harry looked at the older man and contorted his face in confusion.

"R-Remus?"

His voice was raspy and he sounded as though talking was the hardest task he was able to do—no thanks to whatever was struggling inside him. If Remus didn't act fast, Harry would convert once more.

"Yes, it's me. And it seems as though I've arrived just in time."

"R-Remus… w-why can't I move?"

"Well, that's because I've put you into a bind. For both of our protection, but not for long of course. I need you to do something for me. It will help the pain and control what's inside of you. Can you do this?"

Harry just meekly nodded in response, afraid that uttering another word would bring back whatever he had the displeasure of releasing upon Lupin just moments ago. Remus smiled a little at his cooperation and quickly removed a pocket knife out of his jacket. He wasted no time in slowly slitting just a small portion of his wrist, knowing too much exposure of blood would drive the poor boy mad; and then, not even the spell could hold him back.

Harry kept his eyes steady on everything Remus was doing, but when he witnessed the man's wrist splitting open and the crimson trail that leaked out of it, Harry turned his head away quickly. His stomach growled audibly and his fangs _almost_ twitched as if trying to extend further and reach out towards the wound.

"Harry, stop it! You have to or else you'll die. Do not reject the hunger, it will only get worse. You have to trust me!" He walked up to the boy and held out his wrist for the taking—he used his other hand to grab Harry's jaw and turn it towards him.

"Harry, don't fret. You are more rational now than before, and I have you bound to this very wall, so do not worry."

Harry's eyes opened and shut as if he was actually contemplating Remus' words but then he quickly turned away, as if disgusted at the mere thought of what he felt compelled to do.

"Harry, you _will_ die if you don't cut it out, do you understand? You must accept it, there's no choice. This is the only way. Do it now!"

His imperative statement must have struck some type of cord, because Harry was now slowly inching his opened jaws towards the older wizard's wrist. But his eyes were still shut as if in disbelief of what he was actually doing.

However, all thoughts were out the window when he sunk his elongated fangs in, searing the flesh of his former professor's forearm, sucking away madly.

Remus winced on contact but held firm until he knew Harry had enough. He could tell it was enough because he felt Harry's fangs slowly start to shrink as if pulling out of the wound. The problem was Harry didn't know when enough was enough. Remus felt dizziness begin to consume him as his head became light.

"Okay, Harry… that's enough." Remus tried to pull back but Harry wouldn't let go.

"Enough!" Remus yanked away, letting Harry's head fall back against the wall as he ripped his sleeve and bandaged the wound. He sighed in relief as he witnessed Harry's eyes return to their normal hue and roll into the back of his head as his eyelids fluttered to a close.

Remus grabbed the boy and released the spell, feeling all of the teenage wizard's weight falling on him. He dragged the boy over to the bed and gently laid him on the mattress. Harry was completely limp. Mixed with his pale complexion one could have mistaken him for dead; but not Remus. He wasn't worried. He knew the boy only needed rest, especially after the day he just encountered.

'_Tomorrow_,' Lupin thought to himself. '_The real challenge begins…_'

* * *

_Narcissa,_

_Lucius is dead._

_Cause: An Unforgivable; Killing Curse_

_Culprit: Unknown_

_Remains will be sent to Malfoy Manor first thing tomorrow morning for your choice of burial. The Ministry deeply regrets his loss and sends their utmost sympathy out to you and young Draco._

_Sincerely,  
Cornelius Fudge  
Minister of Magic  
Order of Merlin - First Class_

Draco crumpled the wretched parchment that had been owled last night, after Narcissa's death, throwing it in the fire with her remains.

An enchanted force field prevented the blazing inferno from igniting the rest of the meadow behind their manor. The same spell surrounded a neighboring fire pit as it licked and tore away the flesh of his father.

The sun had set hours ago, the night engulfing the land around him, threatening to consume his surroundings as well as himself. The two flaming pits before him were the only light that cascaded upon the land, chasing away the shadows for that moment, until soon they, too, would die out just like the sunlight.

But to Draco, this was the darkest night of his life. In just a manner of _two days_ his whole world had been completely turned upside down. His father's passing was shocking enough, but when he witnessed his mother meet her untimely end due to that wretched Veela heart of hers, Draco snapped.

Was this what the life of a Veela had in store for him? To pitifully follow a mate and worship the ground they walked on? And when they die, he had to cease to exist himself? Draco scoffed at the mere thought of letting someone else have such control over his life. After all, it was _his_ life… no other was allowed to own it.

He felt a wind begin to pick up, as if threatening to blow out the fires that lay before him. Draco felt it flow underneath his clothes and throughout his very being.

And then, it passed over something that made him wince. He cringed at the feeling and stared in awe as he slowly lifted his sleeve and gazed down at an astonishing mark that seemed to have burned into his very skin. It was a mark of long, bony fingers wrapped around his right wrist.

The bruise—contrasting his pale skin—and the howling winds swirling around him brought memories of yesterday's incidents pouring back into his mind. It was the very reason why he remained silent throughout this day.

The thousands of owled letters that came swarming in to offer sympathies of his parents' deaths—or scribbled notes, scathingly rejoicing their demise—were also ignored for this reason. It was the reason why he appeared to be an empty shell.

The reason was… _him…_

* * *

_Draco sat in a plush recliner inside his mother's study even hours after she took her last breath. He was glued to the very spot, lost in thought. It seemed to be the only thing keeping him sane at the moment._

_His parents had died. Both Lucius and Narcissa, father and mother of Draco Malfoy, had passed within the matter of one day. Normally a child would react in horrible ways, mourning over their parents by tears, screams, fits or wails of sorrow._

_Not Draco; he was enraged, but not because his was grief-stricken. At that moment he was furious towards his parents for dying. To him, in a weird, twisted way, it seemed like a result of weakness… and Malfoys _were not _weak!_

_His anger was slowly starting to consume his quiet, still form and vengeance seemed like the only fitting answer at the time to subdue it._

_And as if his mind was being tapped into and his feelings were being openly expressed to the outside world, the front doors of Malfoy Manor seemed to burst open with a _bang!_ Draco could hear the ear-splitting sound all the way down the corridors to the very room he was sitting in._

_Only one person, one power, would have to audacity to do such a thing…_

"_He's here," Draco whispered into air that was thick with silence._

_And as soon as Draco uttered those two little words, gusts of black, visible wind came pouring, swirling into the study followed by a man—if that's what one could call him—that could make anyone quiver at the mere mention of his name._

_Voldemort had arrived._

_Draco, too, would be expressing nothing but a respectful fear towards the powerful wizard, as he had done whenever he encountered the man before. But at that moment, Draco was emotionless._

_The Dark Lord almost slithered his way over the empty shell of a boy and gazed down upon him with crimson eyes. In no way was Draco disrespectful to the man. He had learned that the hard way many times before. He casually pulled his head up towards the dark wizard but dared not to look into his eyes. Not yet anyway. No one had the courage to look into them unless ordered by __he,__ himself._

_Voldemort thrust his hand out from under his cloak in an expectant manner. Draco slowly took the man's hand, and gently placed his lips upon those white, bony fingers in honor of his 'visit'. __The Dark Lord pulled his extremity back under its sleeve in acceptance of the boy's gesture. But the older wizard caught something within the young Malfoy's expression—or lack thereof._

"_Look at me, young Malfoy." His voice _was _ice, sending shivers done the teenager's spine; but Draco did as he was told and gazed into Voldemort's red slits, which were growing more narrow by the second. "Ah, I see the negative emotions coursing through your veins. And is that a hint of vengeance I sense?" It was more of a statement rather than a question. No one could hide anything from that man. So, Draco remained silent as the older wizard went on._

"_Ah yes, your parents' deaths are indeed a great loss. Lucius, an extremely valuable asset to my league of Death Eaters and dear Narcissa, loyal to him, therefore, loyal to me. It will, in fact, hinder my plans."_

_Asset? Plans? That was all he thought of Draco's parents. Well, it wasn't unexpected, but nevertheless, for Draco to hear these very words come out of that vicious man's mouth definitely burned his very being. And the heat that began to rise from his core did not go unnoticed by the Dark Lord._

"_Ah, young Draco. I see you are filled with anger. Anger towards them, your parents? Or perhaps anger towards… _me_?" Voldemort's thin lips grew into a long, evil smirk. But it faded as quickly as it had appeared and he advanced on the young wizard and grabbed the boy by the wrist, yanking him out of the chair. "You would do wise not to advert those thoughts of revenge towards me. You are Lucius' son, which is the _only_ reason why you are alive instead of dead by my hands at this very moment. And since you are his son, it is also the reason why it is expected of you to be loyal to me just as he is-sorry, _was_-and I expect you to show nothing _but_ that_, _do you understand?" Voldemort emphasized his statement by gripping the young wizard's wrist even tighter._

_Draco dared not to wince by the pressure burning into his wrist, but it was starting to grow to unbearable measures. Voldemort gazed into his eyes and witnessed the pain flowing through them-the moisture that threatened to surface from his lids-and he let go, shoving him back into the chair, smiling at the young one in satisfaction. The Dark Lord glided to the other side of the room and stood in front of the brick fireplace. He spat into it, creating roaring, blue fires that gleamed with evil. So, there he stood, motionless, almost thinking perhaps, but what? Draco was not sure._

"_The fact that you are his son brings up another matter." He spoke to boy with his back still facing him. "My right hand man was murdered, therefore a vacant spot is open for the taking. You can only see where I'm getting at."_

_The proposition was all to obvious and it was this offer that finally snapped Draco back to the here-and-now. Voldermort was offering him to be his main underling? His top loyal?_

"_From now until you die, you will be my new main loyal. You will be at my side whenever I command you to do so and you will carry out my every order. In return, you will gain total respect from all pure-blooded wizards in the world, which I'm sure you would accept, no less. After all…" Voldemort chuckled-and it made Draco cringe-"… you are a Malfoy."_

_Voldemort turned on his heel and revealed the most sinister smile Draco ever laid eyes on. How dare that man mock the Malfoy blood-line! But he caught himself before lunging at the very person who could kill him without a second thought. Besides, it was plain and clear he didn't have any say in the matter. But to become his main loyal, so soon? He always dreamed of this moment, when this 'honor' would be passed from his father to him. But wasn't this a little early? Wasn't he too young? And wouldn't he receive the Dark Mark in acceptance of his new alliance? It wasn't supposed to happen like _this.

"_Besides," Voldemort added after a moment of silence. "I couldn't think of none other than a Malfoy to be by my side. It only seems right. With your heritage and upbringing, you fully understand-more than any other wizard in the world could possibly comprehend-the reasons for my actions, the purpose of my plot. It fits all too well."_

"_But my Lord," Draco spoke up for the first time since the Dark Lord first entered. "Wouldn't I have to be Marked? Dumbledore would surely expel me."_

_Voldemort's eyes grew black with rage at the mere mention of the elder wizard's name and he quickly swept over to the young Malfoy and scooped him up by his very neck in response._

"_Don't you think I'm aware of that, _Draco_!" Draco winced at having his name spat at him in such a manner. Voldemort was pushing every button Draco had to push. "Do you take me for a _fool?_! Or perhaps you're bringing that up because you are afraid to receive the Mark?"_

_He threw the young boy down and gazed upon him-his eyes still black but now they had flames rising up from his bottom lids. Draco grasped his very own throat in attempt to alleviate it as he looked back up at the man, helpless. Of course he wanted the Mark, he was raised into hoping that one day he would receive it. There was no question about it… Right?_

"_Don't fear young Malfoy… I have no intention of Marking you just yet. You are, after all, still a Hogwarts student. That crack-pot Dumbledore would no less expel you. No, we can't have that. I've already thought it through. Your influence upon your fellow students will be a wondrous asset to me, so we can't have you kicked out, now can we?"_

_He lowered to meet Draco's gaze at eye-level and gently grasped the sixteen year-old boy's chin. "You are _the_ main contributor towards my plans now. Remain loyal to me and I'll look out for you just as your mother and father did."_

_Draco's heart sunk a little at the mention of his parents._

"_Ah, still stuck on revenge I see? Well why don't you take it out on the very person who deserves it most?"_

_Draco gazed into his eyes-for once-unflinchingly. His soul burned to the core at what the Dark Lord might be suggesting. Was he aware of who his father's killer was? Voldemort returned the gaze, the fire in his eyes flaming higher. His lips twisted into a deep, ugly frown before he uttered his next words._

"Harry Potter."

_Potter? Draco almost scoffed at the man's accusations, but quickly held his tongue. Surely he didn't sneak into Azkaban and take out his father. He was too goody-goody to even think about performing an Unforgivable. Voldemort seemed to catch Draco's confusion and spoke once more._

"_Now he didn't kill him, but he is fully responsible. After all, if he hadn't stirred up the trouble he caused in the Ministry of Magic, your father wouldn't have been caught and sentenced to prison in the first place."_

_And in a twisted way, it made sense to Draco._

"_Think about it. We will both accomplish what we desire. You stand by my side and help me carry out my plans. Aide me in gathering more followers. You know, put your influence to good use. And then, when my plan is finalized we'll move up to the moment when we encounter that foolish, ignorant _Potter_ and we'll destroy him and Dumbledore both. Revenge will be ours!"_

_Voldemort slowly slid up, raising the boy up with him and sat him back down on the recliner where he first sat when the Dark Lord arrived. With a wave of his hand, angry winds enveloped him and started to carry him out the study and he uttered no goodbye as he exited._

_But Draco wouldn't have been paying attention anyway. His mind was processing the last sentence that flowed out of that malicious man's mouth._

"Revenge will be ours!"

_Those words had hissed from his mouth with so much encouragement surrounding it; and Draco soaked it up like a sponge. Maybe the older wizard was right. Harry was responsible. It made sense; that devious prat always had it out for Draco anyway. That's why he went to the Ministry. He hit Draco and his family where it hurt the most. Their pride and dignity; and now look what happened as a result. He was alone… utterly alone._

_But maybe not. Voldemort was offering what hundreds of wizards have killed for and still haven't obtained. A spot right beside him. If-no_ when-_Voldemort took over, Draco would be standing right next to him. The Malfoy name would be restored and heightened as if it had never been tarnished before. It was Draco's turn to make it right again and bring back the pride that dissolved from this ridiculous scandal._

_Draco would do, what he believed, needed to be done._

"_Potter will pay…"_

* * *

Harry Potter slept soundlessly in bed as the morning rays had fully developed, pouring through the simple, white curtains and bathing his face with warmth. The increase in temperature seeped into Harry's pores and snaked its way through his eyelids, stirring him out of his slumber.

Abnormally, the daylight was immensely bright-at least to Harry it was; and he dared not to open his eyelids just yet. He didn't feel like adjusting to the light right now. In fact, he didn't feel like anything. His body was full of fatigue and the bed sheets were so comfortable. He could just curl right back up and sleep the day away.

But in reality he couldn't. Harry was never used to doing so. During the summer, he never slept past seven in the morning-Uncle Vernon just wouldn't have it, not when he could be doing more 'productive' things. And in a way, Harry felt as though he could almost feel those heavy footsteps pounding up the staircase and in just a few moments his uncle would be banging the door down, ordering him to wake up.

_Knock, knock, knock!_

And there it was. The dreadful wake up call…

… Wait a minute. That sounded awfully light to be one of Vernon's 'knocking rampages'-and why wasn't the man hollering for him to get out of bed.

Curiosity claimed the best of Harry and-regardless to the sunlight-he threw his eyelids apart and desperately tried to scan his surroundings. As they adjusted, he realized this wasn't the shabby, little bedroom at Number 4 Privet Drive. It was slightly shabby, but definitely greater in size. Was it possible? Had last nights events actually occurred and weren't a figment of his imagination? He rubbed his eyes roughly with his fists as if this would clear his hallucinations; but he was in the very same room after he pulled them away.

_Knock, knock, knock!_

"Harry? Are you in there?"

Remus' voice. It was his old professor. So, Harry hadn't been dreaming. This was actually real. He was away from the Dursley's once more. But the joy that manifested was erased as quickly as it immerged, for that meant that all the horrible details of last night's episode were real as well.

And as if thinking those thoughts were the trigger, it switched back on the painful hunger he had to endure the previous night. Harry-sitting up against the headboard-desperately clutched his stomach and leaned forward, failing to alleviate it. It wasn't as horrible as it was before and it didn't seem as difficult to try and pull back, but the searing pain-like someone shoving a sword straight through his gut-was something he could not get over.

A moment later, he could hear the doorknob twisting into a 'click' and then the groan of the door hinges as the older wizard stepped through the doorway-caution and concern etched all over his features. His slow pace immediately quickened when he saw Harry doubled over once more and he strode to the bedside, almost shoving a goblet he had been holding right up to Harry's face.

"I knew this would happen again, so I toke the liberty of coming up here prepared."

Harry forced his eyes ajar and looked up at Lupin and then back down at the goblet, filled nearly to the brim with a thick, crimson liquid. He only needed one guess as to what it was, but he shot his gaze back up at the man sitting next to him in horror.

Remus seemed to decipher what was running through Harry's mind and almost chuckled at the thought. "Oh, dear no! I didn't kill anyone. Please, I know it disgusts you now, but you have to in order to stay alive. You know I wouldn't try and force something down your throat that would kill you. Trust me, I don't like the thought of it as much as you don't."

Harry gazed at the cup a little longer as if contemplating something before he finally looked back at Remus with a pleading look. "So," Harry spoke up. "You didn't kill anyone?"

"No," Remus laughed out loud this time. Harry offered a tiny twitch of a smile in response and gazed at the goblet once more. His stomach was twisting into unbearable knots and he knew this was the only thing to alleviate it; so, he slowly removed the cup from Remus' hands and sipped on the copper fluid. And as soon as the first drop hit his stomach, it craved more and Harry began to steadily drink it.

That's when Lupin spoke once more… "-not a person at least. I knew you would still be suffering from the hunger when you had awakened. So, I went out last night to the outskirts of London and well… to make a long story short, that's rabbit's blood you're drinking."

Harry was down to the last few gulps when that statement registered and he immediately spat the rest out and threw the cup aside. He frantically wiped at his mouth and his face contorted as though he might hurl on the spot.

Remus offered a casual smile in amusement and rubbed the boy's back gently. "There, there. It's not the end of the world. Besides, it didn't taste that bad did it?-not to you at least. And I bet now that the pain is starting to subside, am I right?

Harry finished wiping himself off while offering a slight nod 'yes' in response. Relief began pouring over him and it was warm. He felt it coursing through his system, sending away all the aches-revitalizing him to the fullest. He felt eternally grateful to his former professor; and thought of it as a stroke of luck that he ran into him, else he couldn't fathom what might have happened.

Suddenly another thought ran through Harry's mind. Now that he felt settled within himself, he was thinking a lot more clearly-and one thought in particular was haunting above all others… How did Remus know? Or better yet, it was the fact that Remus knew. It was like he almost expected it-he was acting so casually towards the matter. Not to mention, Lupin knew exactly what to do, as if he had _experienced_ the same situation at a previous time.

That's when it struck Harry, and what happened next completely blew both of them by surprise…

Harry lunged forward at the older wizard, causing them both to slip off the bed and onto the floor… _hard_. He pinned Lupin to the ground with an unknown strength he never realized he had.

Remus looked up at the boy and almost swore that Harry was having another 'difficult' moment like he did the night before, but that's when he noticed that Harry's eyes were still the same-they remained their emerald color, except now they were burning with a dark passion. And that's when he knew that Harry was in total control. It was just pure anger running through those eyes-and did Lupin see a slight bit of hurt?

"H-Harry? What's… I d-don't understa-"

"You kept it from me!"

"What?"

"Don't deny it and _don't_ play dumb! You _kept_ it… from _me_!" Harry's last statement was full of hurt and his voice was pushed to the point of cracking.

Remus stared hard into the young wizard's gaze, almost as if trying to explain his reasons, without words, to the core of Harry's very soul. "Look, Harry. I know this wasn't the best way to tell you-"

"-But you _never _told me! _I_ had to find out for myself, but isn't that always what happens? I was sitting in my sorry-excuse-for-a-room, in my-sorry-excuse-for-a-house when it happened. I had just gotten in yet another fight with my whale-of-an-uncle, so having this happen couldn't have come at the _best_ of times."

"Harry I can sympathize and only begin to understand how you feel-"

"No you can't Remus! I. was. all. alone. I had to endure the pain by myself, like always. My so-called friends and supporters are only there to a certain level. They never, _ever _dare to step beyond to a personal level. They treat me as though I'm untouchable. They only care to a certain extent. And I thought your weren't in that category Remus, but you are! You put yourself there by not even thinking about telling me and you know what…?" Harry stop himself short as if uttering one more word would cause him to collapse, but he gathered his strength and pressed on, as if saying these last words was the only thing that mattered.

"It… hurts…"

There. He had finally said what he had been aching to say for so long. So many long years. Lupin's heart finally split in two and he immediately sat up, enveloping the trembling boy in his arms. Surprisingly, he didn't witness Harry pour out tears of all the emotions he had held in for so long. Instead, the young wizard let out one, dry sob and then his body was released into a shaking fit. Remus just held tighter, wishing he could just swallow up all of Harry's pain within himself so the boy didn't have to suffer any longer.

"Harry… I'm so sorry. I know nothing can take back my dishonesty towards you. But if it helps any, I stand for all who really _do _care about you in saying that we _really_ were just trying to protect you…" He pulled Harry's chin so he could look the young wizard dead in his eye. "… but I guess we were too caught up in being overprotective that we didn't notice you were becoming a young gentleman-not to mention we didn't know how you would handle it. But keeping things from you-things that are important for you to know-isn't the best way of keeping you safe and I realize that now. I really am sorry, Harry."

Harry gazed at Remus-half in disbelief and half filled with hope. "If you really want to apologize, start by keeping your word about not keeping things from me."

Remus smiled slightly at Harry's proposition. "Oh, how so?" But he already had an idea as to what Harry was suggesting.

"Start by telling me how I became a vampire…"

The question was expected but to hear Harry say that word still caught him off guard. Lupin sighed for just a moment as if rolling the thoughts through his head and even whether or not he should tell the boy. He knew he had to keep his word but answering Harry's question meant telling him a whole other story in order to explain to Harry why he was what he was.

The look in Harry's eyes confirmed that he wasn't going to back down. They were both too deep in this and the young wizard did have the right to know. '_Look at him_', Remus mused to himself. '_He's definitely not a boy anymore._'

This was the end of the Harry Potter he first met. He was growing up-he had to if he was going to stand head-to-head with the darkest lord known to wizard-kind…

This was the beginning of a new Harry Potter. Vampire heritage or not-Remus didn't know what caused this change, but he could sense it burning deep within the young wizard. And how Harry would change was another factor Remus couldn't decipher. All that mattered now was that he needed to be by his side throughout it all. Harry hardly had anyone left and who he did have left needed to be there for him with all their power.

Remus casually stood up, dusted off his robes and held out his hand for Harry to take. After pulling the teenager up, he sat them down on the mattress and let out a breath he felt he had been holding since he was tackled to the ground…

"All right, Harry. I'll tell you-" and then Remus added with a smile, "-The question now is, where should I begin?"

_**... to be continued...**_

**Tiger Heart: As you can see, the chapter is much longer now and full of angst-y goodness (rubs palms together maniacally… O.o)**

**Slythindor: (rubs palms together maniacally … O.o)**

**Gryfferin: (trembles underneath bed, poking his head out) … You two are evil! No worse! You two are the Devil!**

**Tiger Heart: Well sit tight cause it gets even better! O.o!**

**Gryfferin: (hides under bed again) … mommy… o.o?**

**Tiger Heart: I never thought I'd ask this… but… Please oh pretty-please! (look I'm actually begging)… oh pretty-pretty please (Slythindor: that's pathetic)… review! I want to know you guys are still reading this. 'Cause that's why it's up here, for you to read and enjoy and if you don't enjoy it… well, I'll just have to pack up my story and take it elsewhere… how you like them apples?**

**Gryfferin: (pokes up again) … apples?**

**Slythindor: Angst!**

**Gryfferin: Eep (hides again)**

**Slythindor: Wimp.**

**Tiger Heart: (rolls eyes)**


	4. Return to Hogwarts: Bitterness & Rivalry

**Harry Potter and the Love of a Veela**

**Chapter 4 - Return to Hogwarts**

_(Bitterness and Rivalry)_

By: Schittlez

The wind was cruel. It seemed like nothing was going to give him a break. As he clasped onto his ticket, his knuckles going white, he thrust himself through the crowd, head down and eyes shut. No one recognized him as he parted through the sea of students on Platform nine and three-quarters. Who would think Draco Malfoy to act in such a manner? Draco was always given the red carpet treatment. Two aristocratic, adored figures standing by his side as the current sea would normally part to let them pass, showing nothing but the utmost respect. But his parents were not there and Draco did not wish to be seen, so he was taken as none other but one of them. Shoulders shoving and feet stomping on him were not taken lightly by his anger but he couldn't care less. They could die as far as he was concerned. All of them could. If only to avenge him for what had happened. He deserved none of this. To have his life destroyed and flipped upside down in a matter of less than a month was no deed that should have been done to a Malfoy.

Yes, the wind was cruel. It whipped his hair in all different directions as he made his way to the Hogwarts Express. His carry-on bag was clutched tightly in his other hand as his robes whipped at his sides, exposing his cold, thinly covered legs. They seethed with hate as much as the rest of him did. His muscles clenched, just like the teeth hiding beneath his lips. He dared not part them when he made his way onto the train and few students took notice of him enough to greet him. They were brave—brave indeed. The temptation to hex them all into oblivion was none shorter than great.

At least the rain spared him as it waited to fall until after he entered the train. The horn blowing and steam billowing outside to warn the late, straggling students to make haste was distant in his mind as he settled himself in an empty cabin. He indulged in the moment of silence, knowing it would end too soon, when Crabbe and Goyle would search for him and invite themselves in through his wall of privacy as they always did. It was the price to pay when one was well known. Everyone wanted to see and be near him. He wanted them to keel over. There was a time when popularity and status was something he could never see himself living without. It seemed like now he would give anything to have people, especially those two lackeys, ignore him right now. Malfoy was not in his right mind at the moment. He wanted to be alone to think things through.

And as if thinking these thoughts triggered an unwanted fate, the compartment door slid open and two, hulking figures stood in the doorway. They sat down without a moment's notice when they realized the occupant of the small area and started to make conversation.

It was all the same for Malfoy. These two were not nearly intellectual enough to utter phrases past, "How's it going?" and "How was your summer?" After light conversation, Malfoy drifted off into his own world. It wasn't hard to ignore them. They never took notice whenever small talk veered towards food.

On cue, a trolley started to take route down the aisles of the train after the Hogwarts Express began to make its way across the tracks to its destination. A sea of students followed and made way towards it, impatient for it to make its way to their compartment.

It was the worst time for his Veela senses to start kicking in. The last thing he needed was to literally feel the emotions and hear the heightened volumes of kids excitedly purchasing sweets to cause their hyperactive moods to be kicked into overdrive. But there was one strong emotion; one tiny scoff carried in the distance that his ears barely picked up, that was far from happy. On the contrary, the only thing this one being seemed to be eager for was solitude—same as Draco himself. And as if lightning tore through his senses and jolted him back to reality, he knew who that person was. He could just feel it all over. No proof, just knowing… it was his mate.

He pushed past Crabbe and Goyle, who were busy hovering over the trolley and knocking over smaller students who were trying to do the same, darting his way through the aisles. He searched the train section by section. His rational mind was screaming, '_what the hell are you doing?'_ but his body wouldn't respond. The only thing Draco's body was obeying was an impulse. It felt no shame as it pushed over students and threw opened doors. The only thing important to this _new_ Malfoy was this person and _it_ would get to its goal no matter what.

* * *

Steam erupted from the train, which sounded off its last alarm. Remaining students on the platform were giving last minute hugs and hurried good-byes as they rushed to the Hogwarts Express. One of these students was Harry. He was bidding one more goodbye to his former professor, Lupin.

"Alright Harry, you better get going. Remember what I told you. Stay to yourself during the full moon. Other than that, you should be okay. I've sent Dumbledore a message about what's been going on and he'll be arranging a meeting with you later."

"How were you able to do that? I thought owls would be intercepted even more, now that everyone finally believes Voldemort's returned. That's not information you should deliver freely."

"Oh, they are increasing security, especially at school, Harry. There are more ways than one to contact people. Trust me. Dumbledore and I are the only living souls who know. And he'll be helping you through the school year to control your new abilities."

"I'm surprised he doesn't know already and just hasn't said anything like always," Harry scoffed.

"Now, don't go picking with Dumbledore already. You haven't even gotten to school yet. Now hurry, before you won't even be able to get there."

"Alright," Harry sighed. He was quickly embraced by Lupin before being shoved reluctantly towards the train.

Out of all his years going to Hogwarts, this was one year he wished he could do without. Too many things were going on around him, and inside him, for him to deal with much else. Homework, detention, exams, not even Quidditch was something he needed to worry about right now. At least Lupin had been very helpful over the summer. Aiding with Harry's hungers, helping him grieve over Sirius, discussing ideas about Voldemort's next possible action. Most things might have seemed depressing, but it helped Harry cope more when he was actually able to speak out and not be told everything was okay. More importantly, Remus helped him hone his senses, making them more controllable, although sometimes they still got out of hand.

Right now was one of those moments. Students were frantically mowing over the aisles, trying to find places to sit, looking for their friends they hadn't seen in months and trying to see if the trolley would be coming soon, now that the train had departed. The noise was bad enough for normal ears, but so many students talking in one area and so many heightened emotions were enough to make him want to hurl.

He rushed as quickly as he could towards the back of the train, hurrying to find a seat before the crowd slowly dissipated and the few left in the halls would finally take notice to him. He disguised himself well. His recent change in height left him inconspicuous and his longer bangs not only covered his scar but his eyes.

One person caught sight of him, however. The fifth year girl seemed immune to being ignorant toward most things others took no notice to.

"Hi Harry!" Luna Lovegood shouted as she tried to make way, past the sea of girls and boys, towards one student who only wished to be alone.

Harry tried to hurry as he finally made it to an empty compartment, but failed to lose her. She quickly swooped in, before he could even try and get the door closed, and sat firmly across from him. He sighed as he pasted on a fake smile. He couldn't help but try and be nice, although he was screaming for her to go away. She just seemed so much more excited than usual; but then again, Luna always seemed to like Harry more than the other students.

"Hey Luna," Harry said, trying to seem happy to see her.

"My, you've grown a bit. How was your summer? Mine was much more eventful than usual. Usually, I stay at home by myself while my dad travels to find new articles for _The Quibbler_, but it seems the only story he's been interested in lately is our story at the Department of Mysteries. But isn't everyone all over that story now? It's just crazy how that's all you see in newspapers and magazines now. I mean they can't stop going on and on about you and You-know-who and how the Minister was a crackpot, which I already knew…"

Harry slowly dazed out as Luna rambled on and on about the public going on about him and being on his side now. He was surprised she could even mutter more than two sentences per hour. She even mentioned how she had gotten a few article spots here and there about her involvement with the incident. Harry doubted that what few reporters who showed interest in Luna made her appear like a surviving hero. Instead, they probably veered more towards her looking like a goofball tag-along of Harry's and only spoke to Luna in hopes of her babbling about him. She seemed pleased to have people listen to her nonetheless.

More importantly, she almost glowed when she talked about how her very own father put her on the front page of the September issue of his paper entitled; _Family Member Stands by Harry's Side Against all Odds._ Luna seemed rather proud of herself as she brandished a pre-release copy.

This was the most emotion Luna ever shone toward Harry, and he let her as the minutes ticked away and he hoped either someone else would come and interrupt so she could finally cease her rambles, or for her to go away altogether.

One hope came true as the compartment door slowly slid open.

"Look Harry. There's even a picture of you on-"

"Harry! We thought we'd never find you, mate."

As Ron rambled, Hermione immediately plopped down on the seat next to him and gave Harry a hug. Harry felt his lungs being squeezed by his very own ribcage, as Hermione showed no signs of letting go.

"Oy, 'Moine! Let him breathe," Ron laughed as he took a seat next to Luna, completely unknowing to her presence, let alone the fact that he just interrupted her.

"Sorry, Harry…" Hermione trailed off as she pulled away and looked at his face. Her smile quickly faltered as she gazed at her pale friend. "Harry? What's happened to you over the summer?"

Harry felt himself grow hot. He had no intention of telling them something he hadn't even completely coped with himself. Ron was also now taking in Harry's slight change in appearance. Harry took resentment as he tore his eyes away from their gaze. He didn't look that different, did he?

"What do you mean?" Harry retorted more so towards the floor than Hermione.

Hermione raised a concerned eyebrow. His actions weren't helping her become less ignorant towards the situation. "What do you mean, 'what do I mean'? You look different. What happened?"

"Nothing happened Hermione. I just changed. No one knows why they grow up looking the way they do. No one asks why Ron keeps getting taller."

Ron shrugged, but Hermione seemed persistent. Luna also seemed to start to look at Harry differently; her expression of feeling insulted from being interrupted earlier had now faded.

"Look, Harry," Hermione spoke up again, weighing her words carefully. "We can't begin to understand how last year has affected you and we're not going to try. But we do know that closing up isn't going to help. Don't push away what friends you have left."

Harry's chest clenched as he'd been slapped by that last comment. She had nerve bringing up Sirius. She didn't utter his name, but he knew that she was weighing more on that topic than anything else.

"Hermione," Harry uttered slowly. "Let's end that conversation right there before you bring up my godfather. You have no business mentioning him." Hermione's face of hurt morphed into concern as Harry's emerald eyes started to almost spark with malice, raising her worry even more.

"But-"

"Oh, Hermione, give it a rest," Ron sighed. "Harry's just grown a bit, hair and all. I swear you're always trying to analyze things into being more than what they really are."

Hermione seemed ready to retort but felt best not to push. Harry was grateful.

"So, Harry. Has the trolley come this way yet? It passed us as we were in the prefect's carriage, but they wouldn't let us out until the meeting was over. I'm starving!"

"When are you not hungry, Ron?" Hermione shot back.

Harry looked at Ron and shook his head. He was glad to talk about something else. Things even seemed pretty normal after that. Hermione and Ron were trying to make small talk with Harry about summer vacation, while Luna returned to her original self—less talkative and more engulfed in the interests of _The Quibbler_. Harry didn't doubt she was reading the article about herself for like the hundredth time, but he couldn't figure out why she seemed to have to cross her eyes to do it.

It had only been a few minutes since Ron and Hermione had joined them, but they could hear the trolley coming down the aisle. Ron was up and ready. Hermione just rolled her eyes as she pulled out a couple of Silver Sickles.

But as Ron slid the door opened, the view in front of him was something he was definitely not expecting to see. He fell back in his seat with surprise, bumping into Luna. She gazed towards the door with a slight hint of irritation. When she realized who it was, she resorted back to her paper.

Someone was just about to run through the doorway before coming face to face with Ron, causing Ron to fall back in his seat. When Hermione and Harry looked up, all they could do was frown. No one took notice to the trolley, so the elder witch gave up and continued to move down the rest of the train.

"What are you doing here_, Malfoy_?" Ron spat as he stood back up, almost as if he were trying to defend the compartment.

Harry looked at the blonde teenager with loathing. His biggest rival at school, who was bested only by Snape and the Dark Lord himself as the person Harry hated most, stood before him in all his pure-blood glory. Harry wanted to rip his throat out. He placed his hand in his robes, itching for his wand; ready for whatever this prick had up his sleeve.

On the contrary, as Draco stood there, he made no remark to any of the other students, not even a scowl. Instead, Draco was searching the cabin, oblivious to his surroundings. His eyes were near menacing in the way they looked around. What the hell was he looking for? Hermione gazed with interest. Harry just seemed confused. Ron, on the other hand, became more irritated.

"Did you hear me Malfoy?" Ron asked a little louder, with anger dripping more off of every word. "Or did you put so much grease in your hair that it finally clogged your ears permanently!"

Any insult towards Draco was enough to bring him out of anything. Whoever appeared in the doorway just seconds ago was now replaced by the teenager they all grew to know and hate. The Malfoy darted his gaze towards everyone sitting in the space he now occupied as well. His eyes went wider every time he rested them on the next person in the compartment and he nearly fell over when they finally stopped with Harry. His parted lips quickly closed in a tight frown and his eyes quickly narrowed, finalizing his well-known scowl.

He tilted his chin up a little more as he turned his attention to Ron.

"Anything that involves me, Weasel, is something you are never worthy of knowing. Address me in that way again and I'll make sure that when I'm done with you, even you're filthy parents won't be able to recognize you. I'm sure you can't afford risking your life because who would pay for the burial?"

Any confused expressions Harry and Hermione were showing before quickly mirrored Ron's face. They both sat up straighter, quickly going on the defensive.

"Watch what you say to my friends, you git!" Harry cut in. "Even you wouldn't be able to afford much if I made sure you were dead."

"How dare you even speak to me, _Potter_!" Draco spat literally onto the carpeted floor in disgust. He stared at Harry menacingly, while his hair _almost_ seemed to flow with whatever anger was coursing through him at that moment. "You have guts to talk to me after what you did to my father. Everything's your fault! Everything that happened is all because of you! I swear on Merlin's grave if it wasn't worth all the mess, I'd kill you on the spot right now."

The surge of rage that suddenly enveloped Draco was evident and not one of the four passengers missed it. His whole demeanor quickly changed from high-school bully to full-out darkness. Harry faltered a bit as he recognized the change in Draco a little more intently than the others did.

His senses were picking up something he couldn't quite put his finger on, but this wasn't the same Draco that he thought he knew. But there was no way Harry was going to back down to Draco, no matter how angry the prat became.

"Go ahead. Have a go! We all know you're Death Eater material just like your dead-beat father. Why not just bring it out in the open now and save us the trouble?"

Right after Harry mentioned the words 'Death' and 'Eater', Draco's scowl faltered just a bit. Whatever was on Draco's mind was definitely drilling through him pretty hard. But the Malfoy teenager bounced back and uttered his next words without missing a beat.

"No. I'd rather see you meet your end painfully slow. Next time, you won't be able to get away with just a scar."

With those last few phrases uttered, Malfoy turned and stormed away without another word. His robes billowed behind him, in a way that would almost make Professor Snape jealous, as he tore back down the aisle.

"What a bastard!" Ron roared to the whole compartment. Then, he stood back up to slam the door shut.

"Yeah," Harry trailed off, thinking of Draco's last words. "What do you think he meant though, 'next time you won't be able to get away'?"

Ron just shrugged but Hermione seemed to dwell on the words, too, as she raised her hand up to rest her chin on it. Ron saw the two of them deep in thought. Then, he looked over at Luna, who was also deep in thought, but only about her paper. And Ron couldn't figure out why she had to cross her eyes to read it.

"Aw, forget about ferret-breath. He's been wishing for Harry's death since we first started school."

"I suppose," Hermione replied. "He seemed to know something, though."

"Yeah," Harry added. "It was like he was so certain that something's gonna happen. And even before the argument. Didn't it seem strange how he almost barged in here, like he found something and was ready to jump on it?"

"I guess you could put it that way." Hermione bit her lip. "It was like he was looking for something really important."

"Give it a rest you two," Ron whined. "I don't want to think about Malfoy anymore. He made me mad enough as is. Just look at what he did! His perfect timing caused us to miss the trolley. I'm gonna see if I can catch her."

Hermione closed her eyes, straining for patience as he took off. "He's such a kid."

"After all these years, Hermione, you'd think you'd be used to it. Besides, you still put up with him."

Hermione opened her eyes and shot them at Harry, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. "What's that supposed to mean! Besides, he's your best friend, too."

"Nothing," Harry chuckled as he turned away and stared out at the rain-specked window. He sighed as he watched the all-too familiar plains roll by. Judging by the landscape, he figured they were close. Not to mention, dusk was starting to take over the day.

Seeing the day change slowly before his very eyes made him think of change. Of his change. If anything, he had no idea how he was going to get through this year. How could Dumbledore help him? How was he going to keep his new secret a secret? Did he want anyone else to know? What about Ron and Hermione? He had already closed up from them so much. Why the sudden need to want to not say anything to the likes of either of them?

They had been with him through it all. They had faults but still stood by his side. But that was just it. Was he afraid they wouldn't stay by his side anymore if they found out what he had become?

Vampires were not a frequently talked about topic, but if it ever came up, they were always described with disdain. Just like werewolves or other creatures, dangerous or not, most magical creatures suffered discrimination from wizards. Wizards wanted to be superior. Anything less was taken captive and enslaved to be domesticated by their standards. Anything that deemed more powerful, wizards tried to shoot them down as well; take them over so wizards wouldn't have the fear of being overpowered.

Maybe that was another reason why wizards and witches harbored grudges against muggles, Harry thought to himself. Maybe it wasn't just the fear of having their magical families diluted into squibs. Maybe since wizards themselves reacted in such a way to something that was obviously more powerful, they thought muggles would do the same if they found dominant proof of the existence of the magical world. Maybe the greater power would scare them to the point where they would violently try to squash it. Harry could just now imagine many Uncle Vernon's and Aunt Petunia's storming the lands with any technology they could muster to kill off 'his kind' as they would put it. The absurd thought of anything that had to do with his so-called 'family' made Harry shudder.

Having his little briefing with Lupin about vampires, Harry found out how wizards tried desperately to wipe them out. And the fact that many vampires gave their entire clan a bad reputation, it only caused wizards to harbor hatred towards them even more. Then, there were ones like his father. Just like Lupin, being a nocturnal creature was something that James had to accept but didn't allow it to change his demeanor. He found ways to control it and tried to let himself be as isolated as possible if the need aroused.

Harry figured it was for James' benefit as well when he and Sirius ran off with Lupin to keep the man isolated when he transformed into a werewolf on the nights of a full moon. Apparently, lunar powers of possession had a hold on many darker creatures, Lupin had said, not just werewolves. It was a perfect time for James to let out his frustrated impulses as well.

Harry noted that Lupin and Sirius kept that information out when they talked about their nights out together.

'_We left that part out when we talked to you because we couldn't face ourselves to believe that the same fate would befall itself upon you._'

'_Did Wormtail ever take notice to Dad's transformations? He could have told Voldemort.'_

'_No, I don't think he noticed. He'd always run off while your dad and Sirius tried to keep me at bay. He'd only come back when we were done, if he tagged along at all. So, the git was never around enough to take notice to anything.'_

Harry was grateful for that information but remembered holding a strong grudge toward Lupin for the next few days afterwards just for them keeping that information away from him, but he figured it was all just the same. He was too focused on the here and now, trying to cope with what was going on. He didn't have time to ignore the only person who could help him at that moment; and Lupin did help quite a bit.

It still wasn't easy, however, but at least the myth about sunlight was not true. Harry was afraid of that at first. Lupin explained to him the truths and falsehoods about vampire tales. Sunlight was actually not a vampire killer. They were just sensitive to it and it did act as a dilution of their abilities depending on the vampire's strength. This fact definitely held truer meaning towards the bitten rather than the blood born as well. Those born with vampire blood became accustomed as they grew older and the blood learned to cope better with sunlight through time, but not fully. When one's bitten into the world of a vampire and the vampire blood hits a person's already-matured blood, the blood shock is more intense, making them more susceptible to being sensitive to the light and other things slightly hindering to his kind.

Garlic was a total myth, Lupin stated, which made Harry breathed a sigh of relief at the time. Mirrors, though, would not reflect his skin that well so he had to be weary of where he stood, which made Harry roll his eyes. _Great,_ he thought. _I have to be cautious about something else._

Could he ever be normal? First, he was The-Boy-Who-Lived. Now, he's The-Boy-Who-Isn't-Human. Did something always have to happen? And the rate that every thing was happening, it was just exacerbating things. It got to the point where he felt himself growing numb every time a new surprise jumped out of the corner, and not pleasant ones at that. Soon, he was afraid he would have to force himself not to feel anymore, period, just to protect himself from growing mentally insane about all his occurrences.

_Maybe that's why I can't bring myself to tell Ron and Hermione anything anymore,_ Harry thought. Reliving every thing aloud would have made it all seem tangible, like it really had happened, when all Harry wanted to do was forget. That was why he couldn't stand to even hear or mention Sirius' name last year. It made it so final. '_Whatever makes you sleep at night,'_ Harry mused.

It did, Harry told himself as he felt the train coming to a stop. He hadn't even realized it. Harry didn't even notice when Ron had joined them again. When he or Hermione started to ask him questions, Harry had no idea he even made a reply as he was churning through his own thoughts.

"Harry?"

"Huh?" Harry blinked a couple of times.

"We're here, Harry." Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Come on mate!" Ron punched him in the arm. "Stop thinking of ways to kill the ol' ferret. We'll get our chance on the Quidditch pitch."

Harry returned Ron's smile with a small one of his own, letting him believe that was what he was thinking about.

Luna was already leaving the compartment with an umbrella, fully unfolded and already over her head.

"Luna? What are you doing with that? It's not raining anymore." Harry looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

Luna turned around but looked more towards Ron than Harry, as if he uttered the question, and said, "It might not be raining water out there but there are some creatures that like to fall from the sky and suck out your brain through your very ears, even while it's not raining. Rain is just a cover. I would actually like to keep what knowledge I have left in my head, thank you."

With that, she strolled out towards the exit of the train as if she was trying to float, but she looked moments away from tripping over herself. Hermione gave her a reproachful look that would do Mrs. Weasley justice. Ron stood there, mouth gaped open and Harry was doing anything just to hold in his laugh.

"What she said was wrong on so many levels. I mean… how… what?" Ron stammered. "First of all why is she always making comments about mystical creatures we know nothing of and can't see? Second, I don't want to think about anything with the words 'brain' and 'sucking' in the same sentence ever again after last year. And third… since when does she have any knowledge left at all?"

Hermione's look was almost graced with a pitiful smile.

"Maybe she should have started using that umbrella years ago?" Harry shrugged. Hermione couldn't hold in her giggle after that and Ron laughed the whole way out of the train. Harry smiled at the two as he trailed slowly behind. Well, if he had to deal with anything, at least those two were his friends through it all.

**_...to be continued..._**

**And there you have it! Not much, but just to prove that this story is going somewhere.**

**Slythindor: (pokes his head up)… and after only two years! You go… not.**

**Gryfferin: (finally comes from underneath the bed)… Oh god, she's back! (Whimpers)**

**Tiger Heart: (rubs her hands)… you can never escape me. Once you're inside my head, you can never get out! Mwahahaha!**

**Slythindor: (rolls eyes)… whatever. I made you what you are woman. I'm the landlord!**

**Tiger Heart: (stops laughing)… So!**

**Slythindor: (mutters)… lazy bum.**

**Tiger Heart: Shut up!**


	5. Return to Hogwarts: Arrival

**Harry Potter and the Love of a Veela**

**Chapter 5 - Return to Hogwarts**

_(Arrival)_

By: Schittlez

The rain was delivered in buckets from the skies above by the time the students reached the castle.

"Well, I feel halfway stupid for getting on Luna's case about the umbrella," Ron frowned as the airy-looking fifth year strolled by them, umbrella in toe.

"And that's different from the way you normally feel, how?" Harry smirked, deserving himself a well shot punch in the arm from Ron. It actually didn't hurt as much as when he used to do it last year.

"Well, I wouldn't," Hermione huffed, responding to Ron's comment. "Her intentions had nothing to do with rain, and were far from it! Brain-sucking creatures… honestly!"

Harry almost retorted, reminiscent of last year's Department of Mysteries adventure, and Ron gave him a sideways glare, as if tempting him to say it, but he held back. He guessed that Hermione was trying to keep what pride she had left, knowing that her and Luna didn't usually see eye-to-eye and, therefore, didn't appreciate getting the feeling of 'I told you so' from the blonde girl. But he did notice Hermione clutching her robes a little tighter.

Several students were huddled together as they scurried to the front doors of Hogwarts. The weird thing was he didn't feel a thing from the biting rain. No chills, no goose bumps, no chattering teeth… nothing.

He suspected his latest 'incident' had something to do with it, he scoffed to himself. But he had better not let it show to Ron and Hermione for fear that they would find it as something else to be peculiar about. So, he imitated his two best friends by clutching his robes tighter together as a shield against the weather and followed them in suit towards the steps.

His glance passed across the courtyard all around him as he slowly walked towards the entrance and his gaze finally rested upon the lake that settled farther away. He could see small, glittering lights flickering in the distance, like tiny fireflies. The first years would probably dock soon. Harry wondered how the smaller students were braving the weather while crossing the lake. But they were with Hagrid, so they were in good hands, he figured.

And that was when something else caught his eye—a pale, light color, contrasting to the dark all around him. It was emerging from the back of the courtyard and it only took a second to realize what it was.

Draco Malfoy's pale face and platinum-blonde hair came into view from the back of the courtyard, not looking like himself. For one, Harry noticed, Malfoy was alone, which was unusual. Neither Crabbe, nor Goyle… not even Parkinson followed in suit behind him. Furthermore, for some reason, the blonde sixth-year looked different to Harry, almost like another person. Harry knew his new, weird senses forced him to recognize the world around him a little differently, but this seemed to have nothing to do with it. Harry couldn't put his finger on it, but Malfoy was just not himself. There was no haughty, pristine presence standing before him; and it wasn't just because of the way Malfoy's light hair plastered over his eyes. His eyes _themselves_ seemed to be expressing some type of serious emotion that Harry couldn't figure out, but knew he never saw the bratty teen express before. Whatever it was, Malfoy looked lost.

"Harry? Harry!"

"Huh?"

"What are you staring at Malfoy for?"

Harry blinked and turned around to find Hermione looking at him, studying him it seemed. How long had she witnessed him looking at the blonde boy? What's more, how long _had_ he been looking at him? It felt like forever for some reason. He knew that if he could blush right now, his whole face would be scarlet. But for a certain 'reason', color was something that was hard come by on his skin now. He turned his attention to Hermione.

"I wasn't staring."

"It looked like staring to me," Hermione shot back.

"Maybe Harry was ogling the git," Ron laughed out and then stopped abruptly. "I can't believe I just said that." Ron raised an eyebrow. "Sorry mate, that's like the insult of the century."

Harry smiled, taking no offense, but couldn't think of an excuse to tell Hermione. He still felt like he was being studied by her brown eyes, like when she was analyzing a page in one of her books. Such an uneasy feeling, but luckily, Ron saved him.

"Oh, come off it, Hermione. He's probably just plotting some revenge on ol' ferret breath. What other thoughts could possibly be coming out of Harry's mind towards Malfoy besides that?"

If only he knew, Harry thought, but Hermione did back down.

"Besides, we need to get inside. I'm starving!"

And Harry could hear Ron's stomach gurgle. The two best friends looked at each other in silence for a moment and then busted out laughing at each other.

Hermione rolled her eyes and shoved Ron up the steps. "You're always hungry Ronald. Honestly, one-track mind!"

"What?" Ron shrugged. Harry just shook his head and walked inside, behind the squabbling pair.

But as soon as the trio stepped through the double doors, their whole demeanor changed. Harry's smile faltered, immediately followed by Hermione's, then Ron's. Their steps slowed instantly, as well as the other students'. The atmosphere was thick with uncertainty.

Lupin was right, Harry thought. Hogwarts had changed. What Harry suspected to be Aurors were posted on each side of the main entrance. They also took positions in front of the Great Hall doors and farther down the entryway towards the Grand Staircase. Harry could hear Ron gulp as Professor McGonagall took her place between the guards resting in front of the Great Hall, where the first feast of the year awaited. McGonagall surveyed the students crammed in the corridor. A sea of robes flowed outside and didn't stop until it reached the end of the entrance courtyard.

The transfiguration teacher cleared her throat and held her wand horizontally, pointing it at her neck. Harry witnessed Hermione express the most intense eyes he had ever seen as the professor opened her mouth. McGonagall's voice roared over the sea and Harry was sure that every student, from corridor to courtyard, could hear her speak.

"May I have everyone's attention? As you've noticed, there have been some slight changes among Hogwarts."

"Slight?" Ron whispered. "Ow! Hermione!"

"Well, I wouldn't have to hit you if you'd shut up." Hermione exclaimed in hush tones before rolling her eyes and drawing them back towards Professor McGonagall.

"Please be advised that all of these "new" measures are strictly for security purposes, assigned by the ministry, and will not interfere with the educational integrity of this school. These precautions are only designed for your safety as necessary."

Harry could have sworn he heard someone whisper, "Yeah right. From what I read in the Daily Prophet, they did a hell of a job protecting their own building." Harry couldn't tell if the comment he picked up was from two or twenty feet away, but it was followed by a scoff from whoever uttered it.

"Now, Professor Dumbledore will explain in more detail during his announcements at the Great Feast. So, let's calmly hurry and settle in before the first years arrive." With that, McGonagall turned on her heel, waving her arms at the Aurors, signaling them to open the double doors.

"Well, I expected as much. It's about time the Ministry took this situation seriously," Hermione said.

"Yeah, but I also wouldn't count out Fudge on trying to get in a few spy tactics in the process," Harry replied.

"But haven't you heard?" Ron cut in. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Surely, you've known what has happened. Fudge is resigning. In fact, they're announcing who's being appointed later this week in the Daily Prophet," Hermione finished.

Harry blinked a couple of times but his reaction of surprise couldn't be hidden and it seemed to cause Hermione and even Ron to appear like they were scrutinizing him again.

"Well, I've been busy over the summer," Harry quickly explained. Desperate to divert eyes elsewhere, he began to follow the wave of students piling into the Great Hall. Ron and Hermione were right behind him and they kept silent, although that seemed to come reluctantly.

Harry drew his attention towards the guards standing on each side of the line of students. They were halting the flow of children into the room from time to time. From what Harry witnessed, the Aurors were scanning the students as they passed by. Harry examined the guards closely. The one on the left was fairly tall and lean, with light-brown hair and blue eyes. What he lacked in weight, he made up for by stature. He almost seemed to loom over the students, even some of the older ones. The other one on the right wasn't as tall but close enough and he seemed to be constructed with enough build for the two guards combined. His ear-length, black hair draped over his brown eyes a little as he looked down to stop and surveyed all who entered.

'They definitely appear to have been brought in as just hired muscle more than anything,' Harry thought. But whatever made everyone feel safer, he guessed, was necessary.

After finishing his mental statement, he was among the next to be inspected. Hermione and Ron were standing right in front of him. As Ron cautiously stepped forward, Harry felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turned to the right to see Professor McGonagall standing next to him, owning the hand that touched him. Before he could open his mouth, the Head of Gryffindor House pulled him aside with her as she reached for a piece of parchment stashed in her hat.

"Read this Potter, quickly. Once you understand it completely, hand it back," she whispered, looking to make sure that no one was lurking over to see what it read. However, Ron and Hermione were obviously staring with concern as they were ushered into the Great Hall without him, so the crowd could keep moving.

Harry opened the small note and read it to himself silently.

'_Harry,_

_I suspect a meeting is in order. I look forward to seeing you at my office after supper tonight._

_-Professor Dumbledore_

_P.S. I find the pumpkins are well ripe this year. Perfect for those 'pumpkin-fudge nougats' I can't wait to try.'_

Harry was done within a manner of seconds but lingered a minute longer to take it all in.

'Pumpkin-Fudge Nougats? Typical,' Harry chuckled to himself. He folded the parchment and handed it back to McGonagall, who then proceeded to lead him back in line before entering the Great Hall herself.

Harry's mind was swirling with thoughts as he re-entered the line, waiting for the guards. All thoughts came interrupted, however, when he bumped into another student.

"Sorry, I-"

"Watch it!"

Harry's apologetic face quickly morphed into a steely resolve when he found out who collided with him.

Draco Malfoy already had his sneer in place as Harry turned to look at him. The two rivaling boys glared harshly at each other for a moment as they always did before the insults started flying, so he waited for the frowning boy to spew out his comment, while Harry already had a comeback in the works.

Unfortunately, said comment couldn't be used because the Malfoy teen hadn't said anything yet. In fact, his sneer seemed to disappear more and more as they stood there. Suddenly, Malfoy blinked furiously, looked around as if he just noticed his surroundings and quickly strolled away in the most unusual way Harry ever witnessed the boy walked before. Harry remained planted to the floor, utterly perplexed, as the number of students left in the hall began to diminish.

'That's the second time he's done that,' Harry realized to himself, recalling the first awkward encounter on the train. What's going on? Why was Malfoy acting like this? So… un-Malfoyish. Was he really up to something? 'I know one thing,' Harry thought. '_If he does it again, I swear I'll hit him_.'

Harry eventually came out of his stupor and walked behind the remaining crowd towards the Aurors. Finally, he had reached the doors and approached one of the two men who proceeded to wave his wand and survey Harry's robes. After a few moments, the black-haired guard nodded at Harry and let him pass. Harry didn't waste any time making his way to the Gryffindor table and finding Ron and Hermione. No doubt they were wondering what happened in the hallway. What could he tell them? The truth, he supposed, but he knew he couldn't let it all out. Not yet. Harry was sure Dumbledore would want to discuss his recent experience and transformation, but that was something he just couldn't confide in telling the others about. He hadn't even fully accepted it yet. So, how could he expect them to do the same?

Harry prepared himself as he approached the seat his two best friends reserved for him. Other students acknowledged Harry as he passed. Their greetings towards him were a whole lot different from last year. Now that the truth about Voldemort was out, everyone treated him like the 'Boy-Who-Lived' again. There was definitely a fervent interest for him floating through the tables. Harry didn't need his new, keen senses to notice that.

"Hey look! It's Harry."

"Did you hear about him at the Ministry?"

"Is it true he saw You-Know-Who face to face?"

"He looks kinda different."

"I think he looks kinda cute."

Harry bee-lined his way towards his seat and sat down. Any interrogation from Ron and Hermione was better than concentrating on all the buzzing.

"What did Professor McGonagall want?" Hermione got straight to the point.

"She gave me a note from Dumbledore," Harry replied. "He wants to see me after dinner."

"'Bout what, mate?" asked Ron.

"Dunno really. Probably about what's been going on lately, I 'spose."

"What _has_ been going on lately, Harry?" Hermione retorted.

'_Merlin! Does she ever stop_?' Harry sighed to himself, knowing Hermione still suspected how he's changed, but he just couldn't tell her.

"'Moine," Harry whispered as he huddled the two closer together. "Voldemort's back—calm down Ron—and there's something that links the two of us… something crucial. We have to get to the bottom of it and prepare. _All of us_. But I'm sure Dumbledore wants to make sure that I'm prepared most of all. He is after me, remember?"

"I know, Harry, I just…" Hermione trailed off and ended it there. She seemed almost apologetic because she didn't push as much after that.

It also could have been that Harry mentioned something else Hermione was pondering. All of his friends that were with him at the Department of Mysteries knew there was a prophecy involved, between him and Voldemort. But the glowing, glass ball smashed into pieces before anyone heard its contents. Harry was sure that Hermione was the first in line in wanting to discover what it was about. She seemed quiet about it, but Harry mentioning it again made her eyes almost light up with another topic to delve into. Harry was grateful for diverting her elsewhere and turned his attention towards Ron and his fellow sixth-year Gryffindor friends while waiting for the sorting to commence.

"Alrigh' Harry?"

"Alrigh' Dean, you?"

"Summer's been a bundle of nerves, not knowing what'll happen next, but I suppose it's not as bad as what you've had to endure, 'ey?"

If he'd only knew.

Harry was well into conversation with all of his friends by the time sorting was coming to an end. Ron, Dean and Seamus were discussing with him what they thought the next Quidditch season was going to be like, while Hermione filled poor Ginny's ears with rants about how she just knew she did terribly on her O.W.L.'s and was so nervous about receiving the results tomorrow.

The first years were all sorted into their new houses and settled among their assigned tables within a manner of half an hour. Gryffindor added about twenty newcomers, which was only bested by the Slytherins who raked in about twenty-five.

Chatter amongst the Great Hall started to die down afterwards as Professor Dumbledore, strolled over to the podium standing over the students and raised his arms in the air, beckoning their silence. Harry noticed, even from far away, that the Headmaster's usual twinkle was almost overshadowed by sincere seriousness.

"I have a few announcements before we start the feast. First, as always, I'd like to congratulate the first years on their sorting. May your time here at Hogwarts be memorable."

"Also, as many of you are aware, we have some new additions to the school. Now, as Professor McGonagall clearly stated to most of you, the Aurors posted around the castle are merely a security measure, nothing more. Added defensive spells and shields have been placed on the school and grounds for added protection, so please be advised that you and your parents should feel comfortable knowing your stay here will be a pleasant, learning experience as always. Anyone who feels uncomfortable with the new measures or feel they aren't enough and have concerns, please waste no effort in making sure you inform your respective Head of Houses.

"Now, with that all settled, I'd like to introduce another obvious change in the school this year. As you well know, our Defense against the Dark Arts class is short of a teacher once more, to the delight of many of you, I'm sure. Therefore, the ministry has provided us with a new professor who I am confident will be of great asset to us all. Please help me in welcoming our newest staff member, Professor Sandra Deldri."

Most students hadn't even noticed the teacher sitting in the once-vacant chair. It wasn't necessarily because the students were unaware that they needed a new teacher for the class. It was more so that the new professor, herself, seemed almost unnoticeable. There was something very plain about her. Nothing too special physically. And she just seemed to have a way with blending in with her surroundings, considering she was a lot more engaged with them than with the other teachers.

The newly-appointed teacher stood from her seat for a moment to acknowledge Dumbledore presenting her and slowly sat back down. It was now that a lot of students were starting to take her in. Along with the presence of being simple she also seemed kind of frail. She was a little tall for a woman and very lean. And her features didn't contrast at all. They all had a sense of being 'long'. From her raven colored hair that easily reached her waist, to her perfectly oval-shaped face; from her precise, manicured fingernails, to her pale neck.

She had thin lips and her robes seemed to hang off of her body rather gracefully and nothing about her seemed out of place. From what Harry saw, she really was just plain.

The only startling thing was her eyes. They were the closest shade to the color of a clear, crystal blue sea that Harry had ever seen. Yet they were covered with oval-shaped spectacles. Harry did have to say this, though; although she seemed un-individual and basic, the way she carried it brought a beauty of her own. And Harry's assumption wasn't far off the mark, considering most boys hadn't stopped looking at her well after she was introduced, Dumbledore's speech was over and the feast began.

'_Looks like we have another 'Fleur' on our hands_,' Harry smiled, knowing Hermione and Ginny weren't taking her new appointment very well, judging by their looks. '_Well_,' Harry thought. '_At least it looks like Hogwarts is going to be as eventful as always._'

**_... to be continued..._**

**There you have it. Not my longest chapter, but what comes next is almost like a chapter all its own and I don't want it to run on. Trust me. I should have it up by tomorrow and the others up by Monday at the latest as promised. Hold me to it and feel free to stalk me all over to Internet 'til I'm dead and gone if need be.**


	6. Return to Hogwarts: Meetings

**Harry Potter and the Love of a Veela**

**Chapter 6 - Return to Hogwarts**

_(Meetings)_

By: Schittlez

Draco yawned as the Headmaster drabbled on, in his opinion, with his beginning-of-the-year speech—new announcements, new teachers and old, every-year rules that always had to be reiterated. Same old thing. He had enough on his mind anyway to even pay attention to the speech, even if it had been interesting; and everything compiled into his mind was driving him on the brink.

Sure he looked fine on the outside, now that he was settled among the crowd. He appeared smooth and sophisticated, but inside at that moment, he could easily destroy everything in his wake within a manner of seconds from all the frustration he was holding in right now.

For one, the grief over his parents had a cynically funny way of randomly coming at him in waves when he least expected it. Then, everyone at his table kept bugging him about trivial things he had no concern over, while Pansy Parkinson was doing anything, short of throwing herself on him, to arouse his attention. Draco wanted to kick her out of her seat. He wouldn't court that desperate whelp if his life depended on it.

That was another thing. His stupid Veela instincts were beyond controllable and it was infuriating. They were causing him to act in ways he was sure would ruin his reputation within no time at all.

He knew this situation was to be predestined and his mother had made sure he knew all the aspects, basic rules and the possible outcomes and consequences, but that was just it. His mother might not have been there for much support in any other aspect of his life, but when it came to passing down her heritage and knowing how crucial it was for Draco, Narcissa was on the front line.

But Draco didn't have her to help him through it, now. Even worse was, he had to witness, first-hand, what one of the downfalls were to being a Veela—watch helplessly as his beautiful mother dissolved before his very eyes.

The life of a Veela was harsh. He was finding that out the hard way and it was only going to get shoddier. On top of that, he had been dwelling on something that he had to be prepared to face if things didn't work out. If Draco didn't find at least _who_ his mate was before his seventeenth birthday, a year after he first came into his inheritance, then he had no choice but to die.

That prospect didn't sound promising in the least but Draco couldn't prevent what was bred into his blood. He had to abide by the traditions, for the sake of his own life. But was the fear of an untimely death skewing his natural-born premonition of fate? Was his subconscious so desperate to save the last Malfoy that it was choosing almost any and every possible solution for a mate?

Draco figured it had to be as much. There was no way his instincts were honestly veering towards the students they led him to today and truly considered them as well-respectable candidates.

He knew the process would be tough. Too many students were around him all the time for it to be easy to pinpoint one. Draco knew he'd have to weed through them all and find the commonality of what students were around every time his senses peaked. Then, he could narrow them down by being around each of them alone and find whether or not his feelings still rang true.

Simple it seemed at first, until… _**him**_!

First on the Hogwarts Express, Draco thought, but there were other students in the compartment, albeit bad possibilities as well, and students were all over the train's corridor. But then, he bumped into him in the entrance hallway and his body quickly started to burn like every other time he felt the presence of his mate. However, there were other students around at that time as well. They could have passed by him on the train, right?

'Doubtful.'

'Shut up!'

'Oh, you're arguing with me now? Or is it with yourself?'

'You're not funny.'

'Whatever you say, but you're in denial.'

'I don't care. Besides, he's a boy!'

'Oh really? I hadn't noticed. And where in the Veela Code of Law does it state any differential rules on the matter of sexual preferences?'

'It doesn't but-'

'And it's not because he's a boy… it's because he's Harry Potter.'

'That too… but he's _not_ the one!'

'…If you say so…'

Draco didn't care if he was crazy—carrying on like a lunatic, arguing mentally with himself.

Harry Potter _was not_ Draco Malfoy's mate!

A few floating candles directly above him flickered out but no student paid any mind seeing that the feast was over and everyone began standing up and piling out of the room and into the hallway. Draco slowly began to get up to follow their lead when he happened to notice the teacher's table; and before he knew it, Professor Severus Snape was making his way over to the blonde-haired boy. Draco remained where he was, waiting for whatever the Head of Slytherin House had to say.

Snape was right over top of him moments later and thrust a folded up piece of parchment in Draco's hands. "Do not read aloud," Snape drawled out, making a move to leave but then he halted, looking at Draco once more and said, "And I hope that this year you remain as much of an 'ambitious advocate' as you have been in previous years. Good night Mr. Malfoy."

'_Ambitious Advocate_,' Draco replayed in his head. So that was the new password to the common room this year? He stared intently at his teacher a moment longer then drew his attention to what was probably a note. He peeled it open and read the contents.

'_Dear Young Malfoy,_

_I regret to say that I have heard about how your summer turned out and think it wise we discuss your situation. Please meet me at my office one hour after dinner, tonight at nine o'clock._

_-Albus Dumbledore_

_P.S. I just love pumpkin-fudge nougats, don't you?'_

Six words came to mind right after Draco finished reading the note.

'_Pumpkin…Fudge… Nougat. What the hell_?'

If he hadn't thought it many times before, he had proof right now that his headmaster was a batty ol' coot who was a few pawns short of a chess set. Nevertheless, he had to hurry and settle in his dormitory, so he wasn't late for whatever the professor had in store.

* * *

Harry had wasted no time in making his way up towards the gargoyle statue that rested in front of the staircase, leading to the Headmaster's office. He hadn't even bothered to stop in at the Gryffindor common room before he came. He was just too anxious to discover what Dumbledore wanted to meet with him about.

"Pumpkin-fudge nougat," Harry addressed the stone guard who then proceeded to leap out of the way so he could climb the spiral staircase. He wasted no time in ascending to the office. He approached to door, gave it a few knocks and waited for a response. He received none. He began to knock again, but slowly opened the door as he did so.

"Professor?"

Harry let himself all the way in to find that no one occupied the office at that moment besides himself. He decided to at least have a seat while he waited. As he rested in the armchair, he took in his surroundings, noticing all the gadgets and trinkets that had been whirling, popping and buzzing since he could remember. It was then he realized that all of them were intact. He easily recalled the very last time he was in this office and set it ablaze by smashing whatever he could get his hands on.

Every object sat as if it had never been touched and when Harry thought back on that moment, he felt slightly ashamed. He hadn't meant to be disrespectful; he was just outraged—outraged by the injustice of it all. He had to admit, he was still ticked about the Headmaster from time to time when he thought about him. But what was he really angry at him for? The fact that Dumbledore kept things from him? Maybe it was that when Harry felt he really needed the professor, at that time more than ever, to make things right, the Headmaster actually couldn't for once? Or was it that the professor seemed keen on planning things for Harry without expressing care for the teen's own opinion, like he was some sort of pawn?

It was a combination of the three—Harry thought—that pushed him to the point of feeling unforgiving towards him. But that didn't mean he hated Dumbledore. Either way, this meeting was definitely going to be really awkward for Harry.

Right on cue, the doorknob behind him began to twist and Harry looked around the back of his chair to witness Professor Dumbledore enter his own office looking rather worn. Any harshness Harry felt towards him melted as he took in the sight. The Headmaster finally looked like the years were really getting to him. But that didn't stop the elderly man from perking up once he noticed his invited guest was already seated and waiting for him.

"Ah, Harry, ever-so punctual. I appreciate you waiting patiently for me. You've been doing your best to stay well over the summer I hope."

"It's been fair, Professor," Harry reluctantly replied as he watched Dumbledore pass by him and seated himself in front of Harry at his desk. He appeared to be contemplating what Harry was saying as he rested his chin on his hands, with his elbows propped on the desk.

"Hmm, yes…" Dumbledore trailed off. Then, he piped up and said, "Well, we have a lot to cover before the night is over and, more importantly, our other guest arrives."

"Other guest, sir?" Harry inquired.

"Yes, Harry, but more of that later. First we need to discuss some things so that a few loose ends can be tied up." Dumbledore received a nervous nod from Harry and continued. "I couldn't find a more brooding topic to start off with, but it is a necessary evil. It's the matter of your late-godfather, Sirius."

Harry noticeably flinched but remained silent and still for a few moments. He knew it had to be brought up, but that made it nowhere near easier. Every time he thought about the last family member he had and how he just slipped away, Harry wanted to destroy something. That was the only way to describe the hurt and anger. It wasn't fair, but there was nothing Harry could do about that and _his_ life had to go on. Dumbledore waited very patiently for Harry to let him proceed.

"My godfather, sir...? What about him?"

"Well," the professor started, "with his untimely passing came the issue of his will. He had one written, in fact, and you are the sole beneficiary. He bequeaths everything to you."

"Everything, sir?" Harry blinked a few times.

"Everything, Harry," Dumbledore smiled. "You seem surprised. I personally think Sirius would love no one else to inherit his estate more than you. So, all of his assets are now in your name. His money, possessions, but his residence…" the Headmaster trailed off.

A tear almost slipped out from the overwhelming emotion, but that didn't stop Harry from noticing what Dumbledore just said. "What do you mean, Professor?"

"There is an issue about Number Twelve Grimmauld Place and whether or not it truly belongs to you."

"Well, why not?"

"The truth is, Harry, you are not blood related and knowing how the Black's lineage works, they were probably very persistent about keeping their legacy as untainted as possible. Meaning there might be possible magic that the family enforced so that only a blood relative could receive the estate."

"Meaning…"

"Bellatrix Lestrange."

Harry shuddered. He didn't even want to think of the woman's name, let alone hear it uttered. Was it true? Could that sadistic, twisted excuse for a woman really own what Sirius once possessed? The thought was maddening.

"But, even if you somehow still retained the right to be the beneficiary, we, as in the Order I mean, might still not be able to convene there any longer."

Harry was confused. "I don't understand, Professor. You know I'd be more than happy to let the Order retain it as headquarters. You can have it for all I care. It has too many memories for me to really want to keep it."

Dumbledore smiled consolingly at the teenager and replied, "I wouldn't expect you to offer any less, Harry. You are quite kind. However, this is a matter of security and safety."

"Safety?"

"Yes. You see, when Sirius' house-elf, Kreacher, was demanded to go away, he took it in a context where he could interpret it in a way he wanted to manipulate it into, a loophole if you will. Hence, he ran off to Sirius' cousin, Miss Lestrange, helping their side conspire in tricking all of us."

Harry needed no reminding of the _two_ new names he would gladly love to see etched in gravestones that would be perched on top of the tombs to those very same individuals. Dumbledore easily noticed the malice in Harry's eyes because he quickly continued, glancing at his watch that rested on his desk, which read 8:19.

"So, the problem is, if Kreacher manipulated Sirius' statement to that extent, who is to say that he didn't take it literally in a sense where he could assume Sirius meant it to set him free?"

"But Sirius didn't give him clothes," Harry retorted.

"That's very true, Harry," Dumbledore replied. "But Sirius also didn't command Kreacher to go behind his back, report to a Death Eater and plot against us."

Harry could understand where the Headmaster was coming from. If Kreacher was to considered himself as a free house elf, even if Harry had a chance at owning the estate, then that would mean Kreacher technically freed himself before Sirius died and would not belong to Harry anyway. Therefore, he could run to his favorite Voldemort follower and not only expose what went on regarding the Order of the Phoenix, but also who was involved.

"That _thing_ is more trouble than it's worth," Harry spat out, crossing his arms.

"At the moment, it would appear so," Dumbledore sighed. "And although I'd appreciate it if you would address the house-elf in a more respectful manner, I do understand your anger. Furthermore, we haven't the time."

"So, what do we do about both situations?" Harry asked.

"Well, you could call him and see if he comes. If Sirius' total estate does indeed belong to you and not Bellatrix, house, house-elf and all, then that would make Kreacher your house-elf now, for as long as you see fit."

"I don't want him," Harry threw out.

"I'm quite sure, but we need to know," Dumbledore threw back.

"But, how can I call him? I thought no one could apparate in and out of Hogwarts."

"Ah, so I see you do listen to Miss Granger at times," Dumbledore beamed. "You're quite right. But you also have to remember that house-elves have a code slightly above that rule, since they have to report to their master at a moment's notice, no matter where the location of whom they serve."

Harry nodded and then cleared his throat. "Umm… Kreacher?" he spoke out, a little uncertain. At first he felt pretty stupid, calling out in thin air for something he didn't even want to see anymore. But then, before he could say anything, there was a 'pop' and a tattered, old, grumpy-looking house-elf stood right in between Harry and Dumbledore's desk. Dumbledore clapped his approval for a second and addressed Harry again. Unfortunately, his comments were frequently interrupted by Kreacher's loud, disdainful remarks.

"That's wonderful Harry."

'Filthy muggle lovers'

"Now, this doesn't necessarily mean he's really yours."

'Would never dream of serving a half-blooded little brat'

"He could very well be Miss Lestrange's elf instead."

'Not worthy to speak her beautiful name. Yes, she is Kreacher's mistress, not a repulsive, little worm.'

"Give him a command and if he does as you say, then we are very much in the clear."

'Will not do anything that wretched, grotesque thing has to say!'

Harry was trying really hard to understand what Dumbledore was saying while Kreacher wailed on and on, balling his fists, making faces and sticking his tongue out at the sixth-year in between his rude annotations.

Harry was getting rather far more than annoyed with the insufferable house-elf and finally couldn't stand it any longer when Kreacher started shouting, 'Filth! Filth! Filth!'

"Damnit, Kreacher, shut up! Just… go run into a wall!"

Dumbledore and Kreacher both stopped abruptly and turned their attention fully on Harry. Both of the reasons were far from different. Dumbledore cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow at Harry, causing him to grow hot for his sudden outburst. But all was interrupted when the flailing house-elf put on the weirdest scene.

Kreacher was in the mist of doing what seemed to be an attempt at walking. But every time he took two steps forward, he tried desperately to pull one leg back. His face frowned and contorted as if he was trying to say something, but as he opened his mouth, his lips immediately shut once more.

Finally after a few rather confusing minutes, Kreacher's body seemed to slack with defeat as his legs carried him fast across the room towards one of Dumbledore's bookshelves. He collided with it, creating a loud 'smack' to emit into the room and caused the shelf he ran into to spill a few of its texts. They landed on his head as he fell to the ground. The elf was, needless to say, extremely disoriented and had a difficult time getting back up.

Harry looked back at Dumbledore to see that the Headmaster was already looking back at him.

"Well, Harry, I guess that's one way of testing it. But if we are to continue this meeting peacefully I urge you to show some restraint with your temper."

"Sorry, sir," Harry replied sheepishly, but when he looked at Dumbledore, the professor's eyes betrayed his strict tone as they were hinted with a slight amusement.

"So, Harry, what do you propose should be done with him now? The entertaining act just preformed in front of us proved Sirius' residence along with the house-elf is now yours."

"Well…" Harry started, ready to quickly move on, "Kreacher, I want you to go and work with the other Hogwarts elves in the kitchens until I say otherwise."

The house-elf immediately came out of his dizzy-spell once he heard the command that Harry uttered and grumbled rather incoherently as he vanished with a 'pop'.

"Good. Now, since that situation is settled, we can move on." Dumbledore then slowly let his smile falter as he gazed more intently at the sixth-year student. Harry could only help but feel a little apprehensive as the professor began to speak.

"Harry, I judge that your summer was a little less than fair, as you explained earlier. Would I be correct in making that assumption?"

Harry sighed. He knew this was the true reason for the meeting, and having him opening up about it was inevitable if he was to truly grow to understand his situation. It would be stupid of him to make the situation worse for himself by hiding it away as if it didn't exist; but verbally admitting it was just too… why did he have such a problem saying things out loud?

Harry solemnly met Dumbledore's eyes with his own when he responded. "Yes, sir."

"You seem greatly troubled."

Greatly troubled? Just greatly troubled?

"Professor, I didn't ask for this… any of this—this life, this fate and now this 'inheritance' if you will. I thought I had far more than enough to endure and now look! I'm a… a…" Harry swooped himself out of his chair and began to pace.

"Say it," the Headmaster pressed on.

"A vampire!" Harry shouted, grabbing two handfuls of hair as he continued to bore his footprints into the rug. "I mean, come on, do I not already have a fair amount stacked upon my shoulders to the point where life goes, 'hmm… maybe he's had enough?' No! I'm not ready for this. How can I do this?"

"By sitting down and listening carefully to me," Dumbledore calmly replied. Harry whipped his head towards him and just stared at him. The professor motioned him to sit back down with his hand and looked at Harry in the most comforting way possible. Harry took a deep breath and let it out heavily before returning to his seat.

"Now," said Dumbledore. "I can only begin to imagine your hardships, Harry. Such a heavy burden for any pair of shoulders, let alone those of a young man, could drive any person over the edge of insanity. Believe me, I've seen it-

"But I wouldn't be here, weighing out your options with you, and much less let you come back to school, if I did not trust you could handle it and, more importantly, control it. Now, I'll be here throughout the year to help you and answer any questions. And I brought someone to guide you and train you as well, since I know he possesses a far greater amount of knowledge towards this matter than I."

'Knock. Knock. Knock.'

Harry perked up as Dumbledore beckoned the person who interrupted to come inside; and upon immediately looking at the visitor, Harry wanted to gag.

"You wanted to see me, Headmaster?" Severus Snape oozed out every word as he stepped inside and approached the two, resting where he stood, beside Harry's chair. Harry could not believe he was being forced to tunnel down the same spiral he was forced to endure last year. Had they not learned anything from the Occlumency lessons?

"Yes, Severus. Young Harry is here and we were beginning to discuss the options of his latest development."

Harry had to look back at Dumbledore. "Does he… already know, Professor?" He gazed at the person he looked up to, now with speculation of betrayal in his eyes, but it was Snape who responded.

"Considering I am the only person here who can help you hone your senses and develop your skills as a vampire, Mr. Potter, I find it wise that I should know, don't you?"

"Um... well, yeah, but-"

"And I hope you take this a lot more seriously than your last faux-pa, when attempting to learn my lessons, because this time, if you don't concentrate and work hard enough to develop the strength needed to embrace and control your heritage, you'll find other peoples' lives could be in jeopardy, Mr. Potter. Not just your own…"

"I understand, however-"

"Very well. Starting Tuesday you will see me in my office at eight o'clock so we can commence the first meeting and your extra-curricular schedule with me shall be every Tuesday and Thursday at that precise time, unless I say otherwise, do I make myself clear?"

Harry was now full on gawking at Dumbledore, pleading for his help. The only thing he received in return was the signature twinkle in the Headmaster's eye and he knew this decision was final.

"Yes, Professor," Harry sighed.

Snape uttered no verbal reply, but instead pulled out a mirror and held it in front of Harry's face. Harry glanced at the object with confusion and found that his reflection was a hair away from being completely invisible.

"You're letting your emotions get the best of you. If you are to remain well at keeping this a secret, you have to control your emotions so that your reflection doesn't fade before your very eyes, or others' for that matter," Snape 'tsk'ed a little as he drew something else out of his robes. It was a thick, clear, glass flask containing a light blue liquid. The flask itself looked to be held in a little pouch with some sort of buckle on the side.

"What is that?" Harry couldn't help himself from asking.

Snape narrowed his eyes a little as he handed it over to the sixth-year. "This is what will help you remain calm until you gain more control over yourself. If you get too excited or let yourself become too affected by your senses tuning into those around you, your reflection can easily disappear, or worse, you could end up showing slight signs of transformation. In essence, this potion will help keep your disguise up and it lasts for twenty-four hours."

"So, this will help me calm down and tune out other people's emotions?"

"I am quite sure that is what I just said, _Potter_," Snape sneered.

Harry paid him no mind. Surveying the flask, he said, "Thank Merlin! I honestly don't know how much longer I would have been able to bare all those amplified girly wails and giggles."

Snape merely cocked an eyebrow, while Dumbledore couldn't help but smile.

Harry then proceeded to stand up. "Is there anything else I need tonight?" He looked more towards the Headmaster than Professor Snape. Luckily, the first one replied.

"No, Harry. That will be all. And Dobby will be visiting to bring you something else you might need later tonight once you get back to the common room."

"Oh, okay," Harry said as he got up and began to dismiss himself.

"Oh, one more thing," Dumbledore called to him once more, bringing Harry's attention back to the room.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Some good news I thought you might like to have. It appears you have been appointed to be the new Quidditch captain and I felt the need to deliver the letter to you personally."

"Really?"

"Yes, if you want the position, of course."

"Absolutely," Harry exclaimed as he received the envelope from Dumbledore. "Thanks."

"You're quite welcome, Harry."

With nothing left to say, Harry excused himself. "Good night, Professors." Then, he opened the office door and let himself out.

He was pretty elated as he trotted down the steps—first the potion and then Quidditch captain? He couldn't wait to tell Ron about the latter of the two topics; and with the potion he just received, he could easily keep his secret safe—although help had to come from one of the top five people he hated most.

Having classes again with the grease ball was going to be a living Hell; but if Dumbledore insisted, then Harry couldn't help but comply with anything that was going to aid in taking care of this situation. At least he did _have_ an option to help deal with this new issue. For the first time since he arrived, Harry felt pretty confident.

His bubble of euphoria popped all too soon, however. Looking at the object in his hand, instead of the hall in front of him, as he exited the staircase, his lack of attention caused him to smack into something rather hard.

"Oomph!"

"Ow!"

Harry immediately fell backward and landed on his butt before his could even catch himself. Luckily, his right hand still kept his potion flask clasped tightly against his chest.

"I swear, Potter, you walk as bad as you fly. Can't you watch where you're going?"

Harry glared at the person in front of him, who obviously fell as well. "You must not have been doing a top-notch job of paying attention either if you ran into me as well, _Malfoy_. Why don't _you_ watch where you're going, if you're so smart?"

"Same ol' Potter. Swears everything has to revolve around him," Malfoy spat back. "Well sorry, I don't worship filth."

Harry was getting more and more heated by the second and he could feel his teeth starting to elongate underneath his lips. He let the moment get to him and now look what happened. He dared himself not to speak or he would be exposed. He figured Draco would eat up this moment of forced silence and have a snide remark for that as well. Well, Harry still had his wand. If the prat got too cocky, he'd hex him to death.

But once again, for the _third_ time, Malfoy had no response. He sat there for a second, staring at Harry. He narrowed his eyes for a moment and pulled his head forward a bit as if trying to get a better look at something; and if Harry could open his mouth, he'd scream at the bastard to shove off. What happened next was something that Harry was completely unprepared for.

Draco Malfoy jolted up off the floor and bolted in the direction of Dumbledore's office. When he realized he had a statue in his way, he stammered out, "Um, uh… fudge pumpkin nougats. No wait, pumpkin nougat fudge… what the hell? Damn that Dumbledore!"

Harry could not believe his eyes. Who was this guy and what had he done with Malfoy? Harry noticed the boy obviously needed help and turned his head to stare in the other direction of the hall as he opened his fang-filled mouth and uttered, "Pumpkin Fudge Nougat," and then quickly closed his lips once more.

Malfoy stopped fidgeting for a second and turned to look at Harry, who look at him silently, as if questioning whether or not the raven-haired teenager just helped him; but it didn't take long for his true colors to shine once more.

"You're still filth," Malfoy spat as he tore up the staircase and out of sight.

While the gargoyle slid back into place, Harry was left feeling, well… he didn't know how the hell he was feeling at that moment. He didn't even have half a nerve to believe what just happened. Once again, the blonde Slytherin managed to totally amaze him with his insane antics, worthy of admitting him into St. Mungo's. What on earth was going on with that basket case? It was getting to the point of being well beyond annoying and peculiar.

Harry slowly got up and dusted himself off and sighed, knowing nothing good would come out of worrying about it right now. Besides, Ron and Hermione were probably keeping themselves awake in the common room, waiting for him to return and discuss all the lovely details. He had to get his fake meeting in order to go over with them.

However, Harry did keep thoughts about Malfoy in the back of his mind, knowing he needed to get to the bottom of that issue, sooner or later. That ferret was up to something. Harry was sure of it. It was only a matter of time before he found out. Speaking of which…

"Damn." Harry's curse echoed through the empty hall, save for one wandering ghost. "I forgot to hit the git."

**_... to be continued..._**

**There you have it! Love it, hate it, think I'm rusty? Lemme know!**


	7. Classes Begin: OWL Evaluation Day

**Harry Potter and the Love of a Veela**

**Chapter 7 - Classes Begin**

_(O.W.L. Evaluation Day)_

By: Schittlez

"No, no, no, no, no!"

Draco rested fifteen steps below the entrance to the Headmaster's office. He knew he was going to be late, but there was no way he could walk in there right now, in his current condition.

He wrung his hands together, which were extremely clammy. Frustratingly, he rubbed them over his robes only to raise them back up and run them over his forehead, covered in sweat, before raking them through his slightly disheveled hair. Draco's chest heaved a little as he propped his elbows up on his thighs, letting his hands hold his face.

What in Merlin's name could his subconscious have been _thinking_! Whatever it was, it was something that the conscious side of Draco failed to understand and was clearly upset about. Someone must have held nothing short of vindictive intentions when they predestined this pair.

'Now that hurts. I'm not that vindictive.'

'Not you again. Go away.'

'Aw… are we upset because we found out that I'm right?'

'What? We don't know you're right yet. There could have been… someone…'

'Someone what? Wandering the halls? Not likely. Just you and the man you wanted to pounce.'

'Don't make me ill. I am not attracted to _Potter_! I'm not even gay!'

'You know, if you lie to me, basically, you're lying to yourself.'

'How do you figure I'm gay?'

'As if you couldn't be! Who decorated their room because he thought no one else had his color sense? Who drew out the exact, detailed designs of his own wardrobe right down to the specific color and fabric, _every year_, because he felt no one's taste met up to his level of standards?'

'…So?'

'And all petty stereotypes aside, who's the one who shoves away every girls' advancement no matter how pretty they are?'

'That doesn't prove anything! I can't be with anyone else other than my mate and you know that.'

'Nice excuse… if you were shoving them away with determination instead of sheer disgust. You're still human you know. Well, half-human.

'I'm not gay.'

'Before you argue with yourself all night long, since you should have been in that office five minutes ago, think about this… if you really thought about it and set your veela instincts aside, list all the girls you find attractive and then list all the guys. Then, get back to me when you're done.'

Draco could already feel the impending epiphany, dwelling inside him, the very second he began coming up with an answer to that request.

'Merlin's beard, I am gay!'

'Told you.'

'Shut up!'

Draco sighed heavily as he pulled his face out of his hands and glared down at the spiral staircase. Even if his sexuality was solved as a definite, that still left one problem. Why him? Why did it have to be the very same person he literally grew to hate ever since he first met him? Draco knew this could not go well.

Sure, he had at least found the person his senses were steering him to, so he didn't have to worry about the thought of perishing on his next birthday; but he was sure if his bloodline provided such a punishment for something so simple, he knew the consequences would be far more dire for not being able to make a connection with his mate. However, what could be worse than death?

Draco mentally wished it didn't have to be Potter. Maybe if he insisted hard enough, his subconscious preference would change.

'Not likely.'

'Damn you.'

Besides, he didn't even have feelings for the wretched boy other than pure loathing, right? Draco wasn't so sure anymore, because when he looked into those piercing, green eyes tonight, truly, for the first time, his insides immediately turned into Quidditch players competing in the World Cup.

Draco reluctantly willed himself to finally stand up, but that did not stop him from continuing to let his thoughts stew. He wasn't even in full touch with reality after he opened the office door and greeted the professors standing before him.

"You're ten minutes late, Mr. Malfoy," Snape calmly scolded as Draco entered the Headmaster's office.

"My apologies, Professors," Draco replied as he shut the door behind him.

* * *

Harry awoke the next morning fairly early. The sun was just beginning to creep over the landscape when he looked out the window to his dormitory. He was pretty grateful that Hermione and Ron took it upon themselves to head to bed before he returned last night. And now, he might get a few more peaceful moments before they woke up and let him have it with every question on their mind.

He threw his housecoat on before making his way downstairs and discovering that someone was already occupying the sofa in front of the fireplace, which still had a few remaining embers left. It was at that moment that he had realized he left the tray Dobby delivered to him on the table, next to the sofa. How could he have been so careless? Sure, there were no contents left on it; but he was confident that the remaining pool of blood, resting on the silver platter, from last night's 'feast' was enough to arouse a fury of inquiries.

And who was the lucky witness that just so happened to be sitting next to the evidence? It was none other than Hermione Granger. Harry sighed as he rounded the piece of furniture and let himself have a seat next to her. However, when he looked over her to see if the tray was where he left it, it was nowhere to be seen. Dobby must have grabbed it during the night, Harry thought and he had to remind himself to thank the wonderful house-elf later.

He then perked up and addressed the sixth-year girl next to him, who was obviously enthralled by the book she was reading, because she still had yet to acknowledge his presence.

Harry slowly leaned to the side, still looking straight ahead and whispered, "Hi there."

Hermione's book, needless to say, was no longer in her lap.

"Ah! Oh… Harry," Hermione gasped. She quickly picked her book up off the floor, which knocked over a candle in the process. She settled herself quickly, and pulled out her wand to re-ignite the fallen candle Harry scooped up and put back on the table. She then finally seemed to catch her breath and glared at Harry for a second, who was nothing but smiles. "You startled me."

"That was the plan," he chuckled.

"Yes, well, it's not that funny," Hermione finally smiled and opened her book where she had left off. She didn't continue reading right away, though. Instead, she turned to look at her friend and said, "So, how was your meeting with Professor Dumbledore?"

"It was okay," Harry shrugged. "We just laid everything out on the table and discussed some things."

"Like what?" Hermione continued, flipping through the pages of her book as if she was more interested in that and just wanted to make idle chit-chat.

"We discussed that the Order… could keep using Sirius' house as headquarters because I inherited everything in his will."

"Oh, really? Harry, that's wonderful. Your godfather really did care for you."

Harry didn't feel like dwelling on that topic much longer. So, he quickly changed it. "Yeah, but that meant I inherited the wretched house-elf as well."

Hermione paused and then reached into her nearby bag to pull out a pamphlet. "You know, Harry," she began, "I think if you took this in a different and healthy direction, you could grow to at least tolerate Kreacher. He is a living creature and I have written information right here in this little leaflet I created about S.P.E.W. about how you can-"

"Hermione, that creature was responsible for my godfather's death. The only piece of family that I had left is now gone, right before I truly got to appreciate what it was like to have a father figure. Now, you know I don't mind house-elves—I care for Dobby very much; but forgive me if I feel it deservedly so for spiting the loathsome thing, okay?"

Hermione clearly received the message of resentment and realized she overstepped her boundaries. She set the booklet on the table and appeared to be intensely interested in the red and gold, embroidered throw rug. The bushy-haired girl then looked to the side, at Harry, and all caution was swept away as she began focusing on something else.

"Harry? What is underneath your lip? Is it swollen?"

Harry willed himself not to look too surprised, but his insides were screaming with alarm. '_I didn't take the potion yet_!'

He brought his fingers up and grazed them over his top lip, which was indeed pushing out, due to his morphing teeth. He turned his head away and began to stand up before he opened his mouth to speak and replied, "Um, yeah. I bumped my lip on the nightstand when I fell out of bed this morning. It must be starting to bruise."

"Do you need me to take a look at it?"

"No, that's okay," Harry insisted as he swept away from her and proceeded to head to his dorm. "I'll be fine. I'd better go and get dressed before breakfast… I'll see you down there." And Harry left a very confused Hermione sitting all alone once again in the common room.

When Harry reached his room, he headed straight for his robes from last night and pulled out the flask Snape had given him. He instantly popped open the lid and let a sip of the potion slide down his throat. He brought his head back up and it took every ounce of strength he had not to gag; but the professor was true to his words.

Seconds later, the concoction began to work and Harry could feel his teeth retracting back to normal. How long did the effects last again? He remembered the potions master saying it lasted twenty-four hours. So, Harry had to make sure that he took it every morning before he got out of bed.

'That was definitely too close,' Harry sighed with relief.

He shook his head, realizing this was the first time he had ever mentally admitted looking forward to one of Snape's lessons. Anything to help prevent from letting his secret known to the whole world had his full attention. He just hoped these teachings went better than his last excursion with the professor.

As the other boys in the room began to stir in their beds, Harry gathered his things and headed to the bathroom to get ready for the day. Thankfully, he could be the first one to get in there—although it didn't take long before he was showered, dressed and checking out his progress in the mirror.

It was strange how he almost didn't recognize himself; but out of all the things he wished could have changed, there was one thing that still remained the same. His hair, although much longer, reaching past his shoulders, was still thick and unruly. Harry sighed as he ran a hand through his hair and held it there.

Then, he got an idea. He went to his trunk and pulled out a book that held a red ribbon within its pages, as a bookmark. He then walked back up to the mirror. Grabbing a brush he recognized as Ron's, Harry began running it over his uncooperative hair. It was definitely proving to be an arduous task, as even more tangles seemed to manifest every time he brought the brush back up to his untidy mop.

Eventually, his hair seemed to let up a little as he was able to pull most of it back. Some strands refused to obey as they insistently decided to stay frayed on each side of his face. The rest of his hair was tied down by the ribbon he grabbed as he ran it around and around the ponytail until there was just enough slack to knot it.

Harry surveyed his work and was pleased enough, except he couldn't get a good look, considering everything was steadily getting more blurry by the day. Was his eyesight getting so bad that even his glasses no longer worked? But as soon as he took off the eyewear, his vision was crystal clear. There wasn't one object that he couldn't adequately see. Harry shrugged and decided to store his glasses in his pocket; but wouldn't people take notice? Maybe he should tell them he performed a vision spell or he got contacts—if they even knew what the things were.

Unfortunately, his assumption was correct. The moment he walked back into the room, all eyes were on him and they wouldn't leave. Ron was in mid-stretch and fell back on the bed. Dean and Seamus both dropped the attire they had gathered to wear for the day, and Neville stood frozen, looking baffled, leaving his toad, Trevor, who was resting in his hands, able to make a break for it.

Maybe he should have just left the glasses on.

"Harry?" Ron approached him, trying to get a closer look. "Is that you?"

"No, it's my twin," Harry rolled his eyes and made his way over to his space to put away his belongings.

"What happened to your glasses?" Ron squinted as if thinking that much was harder than he ever tried to before.

"I learned a vision spell over the summer and wanted to try it." Everyone was still too paralyzed to take their eyes off of Harry. "You know, people will get ideas if you keep gawking like that," Harry shot out, sitting on his bed.

"Sorry, mate, but you have to admit, your appearance… it's a little, um…"

"Creepy," Dean cut in, helping Ron out.

Harry took offense, but noticed Ron couldn't look Harry in the eye, so he must have agreed with the description.

"Oh, come on, I don't look that bad."

"I'm not sure Dean meant it in… an insulting context," Neville stammered a little, unsure if he should say anything. "But the difference between the way you looked when we left last year and the way you look now, well, the change is very apparent—even more so, now that the signature features of your hair and glasses are gone."

"Look, I just wanted a change you guys, you know, try something different. Everyone's entitled to that," Harry flared up defensively.

"Don't get us wrong, Harry," Ron sat on the bed next to him. "We didn't say you looked horrific or anything. It's just something to get used to. I think it's kinda cool."

"Yeah," Seamus laughed out, strolling up to playfully shove Harry's shoulder. "Jus' don' steal all the girls away or we're gonna 'ave to 'ave a go, alrigh'?" With that, he disappeared into the bathroom.

"Um, thanks guys," Harry smiled as he made his way to the door. "I'm going to head down to breakfast."

The remaining boys waved him off as he exited the dormitory. He really wasn't that hungry, considering his late night 'meal', but he had a cover to keep. Luckily, he could still eat normal foods. It _was_ still necessary to sustain his regular body's energy and functions.

Lupin had informed him, during the summer, however, how important it was to sustain his blood with a continuous supply of even more blood. Harry's former professor explained that the cells in his blood died off easily from his vampirism because of the added amount of power, energy and stamina it had to uphold. So, a vampire needed a steady supply of blood cells to keep their blood alive and well. The plus side was that a vampire could almost live as long as they desired, provided that they always nourished themselves on a regular basis. Harry figured that was probably the reason why vampires held the image of aging very slowly and possessing immortality.

Harry just wondered how long he could keep this charade going without anyone finding out. He was determined to keep it running as long as possible.

* * *

Draco began to grow more irritable as he waited to enter the Great Hall. Breakfast was over a few hours ago and all the sixth-year students were gathered in groups, chatting away while they waited for their name to be called. He felt confident about his O.W.L. evaluation and wanted nothing more than to get it over with.

"Abbott, Hannah," Professor Sprout called through the slightly-ajar double doors. Draco watched the girl, whose name was summoned, approach the Herbology teacher and followed her inside—the big, oak doors closing behind her.

Draco sighed, hoping it wouldn't take much longer. He had too many things on his mind and far too many agendas to be concerned about rather than his future career. He had to focus on barely making it through the year; and it wasn't just the meeting with Professor Snape and Dumbledore that was twisting the gears and cogwheels in his brain all topsy-turvy. It was the event he encountered later that night… the unannounced 'meeting', while Draco was in his room, was what had him going mad...

* * *

**..._Last night, in Slytherin Dungeons..._**

_The sky was black beyond measure. It was the deepest kind of dark that Draco had ever witnessed and it wasn't just the sky above him. Every bit of mass around him blended in to one gargantuan black hole of some sort, and he was standing in the middle of it as if suspended in mid-air. It was the kind of darkness that was so thick with uncertainty, it was intimidating. Draco wanted nothing more than to leave._

_But then, small, glittering specks of light began littering the black all around him, pushing it away it seemed. Soon, he was left standing in an area dimly lit with colorful, mini stars that were etched in the black canvas that now appeared to be merely a background or the walls, ceiling and floor of a rounded-out room; but Draco still didn't like to idea of being alone. How much longer did he have to stand there?_

_Then, without warning, strong hands snaked under his arms from behind him and wrapped around his torso. The initial, startling reaction quickly ebbed away as the phantom extremities roamed over his chest and stomach, slowly rubbing and messaging. The feeling was warm and very comforting, melting away Draco's fears and insecurities; but who possessed the talented hands? His mind wanted him to turn around, but his body would not allow it._

_Instead, it remained firmly planted, allowing the exploration to continue; and concerns of the person's mysterious identity were erased when one hand slipped under his shirt, the other still pressed on his chest over the fabric, and began conjuring up butterflies in the pit of Draco's stomach while it caressed his bare skin. The stranger's hand was soft and supple, with a few, slightly rough patches graced over some areas of its palm. It felt nothing short of intoxicating to Draco and only intensified when the culprit's fingers lightly traced every outline of the muscles etched into his skin._

_He didn't want it to stop. He wanted it to keep going, willed it to go farther; but before he could part his lips to address the elusive stranger, another pair of hands began pressing down on his chest. The added weight was uncomfortable and suffocating; and the feeling intensified every time the hands pressed on him again. Draco glanced forward to try and figure out who was shoving him over and over, rudely interrupting his pleasurable encounter, but no one was standing before him and no extra pair of hands was visible, but the ones that had been caressing him were now slowly slipping away._

_Draco wanted to grab them, keep them from disappearing behind him again; but he could not move and the pressure, from the constant pushing of the unwelcome appendages, was menacingly increasing. So much so, that he grew more faint and dizzy as it persisted. Slowly, the bright specks, scattered across the walls, were dissipating and he was thrown back into the original, eerie darkness from before. Then, he felt his body jerk and being pulled up—towards what, he didn't know._

_Two slits of light were above him, growing steadily brighter by the second as his body levitated in that direction. He didn't know what would happen next. Suddenly, Draco felt his consciousness rapidly fading away and blinding light was the last thing he remembered before…_

* * *

Draco Malfoy was in his bed. He could tell by the features in his dormitory that his vision picked out one-by-one as it became less and less blurry. What he had just been experiencing… it must have been a dream. Unfortunately, the jostling hands had not ceased. The person who owned those hands was someone he definitely did not want to see face-to-face when he first woke up. It was none other than the bulky Vincent Crabbe. Draco had half a mind a punch him, since his wand was too far to reach.

"Crabbe! What in the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" Draco exclaimed. When the boy above him realized that he was awake, he finished pushing him; but Crabbe didn't respond to his threats. Also, the figure hunched over him at that moment didn't seem like the Crabbe that Draco knew. This one, instead of looking dazed and confused, resembled a menacing maniac.

His eyes were wide with intensity and looked like they were ready to pop out and explode. His mouth was tight with determination. Draco felt a little uneasy about this.

"Crabbe, you better have a damn well excuse for this-"

But Draco was silenced by the dark-haired boy's palm as it slapped over his mouth. The teen hovering over him spoke with malice and threatening tones.

"Read the instructions on this sheet and then read this note. Burn it when you're done and utter it to no one. I will know if you do. We'll be in touch."

Crabbe thrust his arm out, demanding instead of offering the contents of which he spoke of and stalked away, out the room, once Draco took a hold of them.

'What was that all about?'

Draco sat up in bed, still quite flabbergasted, and examined the two folded up sheets in front of him. They appeared normal enough. He opened the one Crabbe insisted him to read first and cocked an eyebrow as he looked over it. It _was_ a set of instructions—a set of instructions on how to activate the second note. There was an incantation, from what Draco could tell, that had to be recited to the note, to force it to reveal its contents; and it would only do so if Draco's voice was the one that was speaking the words of the spell, according to the first note.

Draco scoffed and threw the first note aside. Who would go through that much trouble to prepare a message? Curiosity got the best of him, though, and so he unfolded the second parchment and help up the note. Then, recalling what he just read, he began to speak.

"This note is only for Draco Scorpius Malfoy to view, so all others best beware and be… fooled?" Draco rolled his eyes. "That's the most mental spell I've ever heard."

His attention, however, was drawn back to the note as words started bleeding over the parchment. They were the color of the most sickening red he ever saw and the handwriting was long, thin and scratchy; but Draco could barely make out the words.

'_-If you're reading this, then young Crabbe is doing quite well. He will be assisting you and me throughout the year as our messenger, so I may communicate with you regarding the progress of our plan. I'll be sending further instructions to you on what I'd like you to do. In the meantime, I need you to take the first step towards our goal. Conjure up a sleeping-draught and perform this on the night of a full moon. Crabbe will be keeping on eye out in making sure you follow the plan.'_

* * *

Draco was beyond gone, thinking about the past night, until Professor Snape called out a familiar name from the Great Hall doors.

"Goyle, Gregory."

Draco watched one of his associates clumsily carried his way over to their Head of House. Then, after the doors shut, he diverted his attention elsewhere. He was desperate for something to pass the time. His thoughts wandered back to the short letter he received last night from none other than the Dark Lord.

Draco had completely forgotten about the visit he was graced with over the summer and didn't even think the older wizard would have found a way to communicate with him, with all the increased security.

Somehow, though, even with added guards, monitored floo's, intercepted owls and heightened shield spells, the man still found a way to get in touch with him. Should he even be surprised? The Dark Lord had millions of talents that allowed him to do just about anything he wanted; and if there wasn't a way, that wizard would find one.

One thing was on Draco's mind. What did he need to produce a sleeping draught for? Sure, he understood the reason for brewing it during a full moon—for a more potent effect—but what was the _purpose_ of it all? Furthermore, he knew any part of the plan was a step towards bringing down Dumbledore, but what could a simple, non-lethal potion do? And the Dark Lord wasn't only after the Headmaster; he was after Potter as well.

"Bloody Hell." His whisper carried through the air and died among a group of giggling girls, who couldn't keep their eyes off of someone.

Draco completely forgot about the plot against Harry Potter; and now he was being pitted against his own mate. Oh, if he had no proof that someone was out to get him before, he just got smacked in the head with it now. How could this have happened? Now what was he supposed to do? If Harry died, Draco would waste away. If Draco didn't cooperate with the Dark Lord, that wizard would have his head. Either way, he knew he wasn't going to get out of this unscathed.

"Potter, Harry."

Now the prat's name was swirling through Draco's mind so bad, he was hearing it aloud. Wait, he did just hear it called.

Professor McGonagall motioned toward the guy, who the group of girls Malfoy noticed earlier, had been squealing over. A black-haired teen began to make his way down from the beginning of the Grand Staircase and over to the teacher who beckoned him. Draco had to do a double-take to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him.

_That_ was Potter? There was no way. Since when did he look like that? His unruly mop could now pass for a decent head of hair; and those eyes… When did he get rid of the glasses? No, that wasn't him; but McGonagall was looking straight at the boy. Draco had to admit that his robes did fit him pretty decently.

_No_, what was he _thinking_?

He watched as Potter had to pry a few girls away from him in order to get to the double doors; and Draco wanted nothing more than to mutilate those desperate heathens to a bloody pulp until no spell on earth could identify who the remains belonged to. Wait… why did he care?

'Me-ow! Jealous much?'

'I'm not jealous. I could care less.'

'…Uh-huh.'

All schizophrenic thoughts aside, he had to pull himself together.

"Malfoy, Draco."

Draco snapped his head in the direction his name had been called and made his way towards Professor Snape. That was when he realized he had to walk up right next to Potter in order to enter. So, in trying not to look awkward, he stopped just short of the door and waited so the other teenage boy could pass through first; and before Draco saw it coming, Potter was looking at him with those intense eyes. However, they were far from welcoming to say the least.

"Am I supposed to go ahead first so you can jinx me behind my back?"

Draco didn't know why that comment hurt, but it hurt—literally. He could feel something inside him twist and spasm soon after Potter spat his scathing remark. He could not believe that arrogant jerk. To believe that Draco Malfoy _almost_ did something remotely kind for Harry Potter. Well, that would be no more.

'Don't do it. Don't do it-'

"No, I just smelled something rank coming by and I wanted to get out of the way for fear I might catch something."

'Ugh… he did it.'

By some unknown force, his body, internally, began twisting even more; but he didn't care. He was not backing down from that prick.

Potter ended up rolling his eyes forward and ignored Draco as he followed the Transfiguration teacher to the far right side of the enormous room.

Draco didn't care. He got the last word; but he had to admit, it still hurt.

**_... to be continued..._**


	8. Classes Begin: New Lessons, New Teachers

**Harry Potter and the Love of a Veela**

**Chapter 8 - Classes Begin**

_(New teachers and New Lessons)_

By: Schittlez

The first official day of class was frenzied to say the least; and all Draco was focused on was having it end. His thoughts were overwhelming him since yesterday and he wasn't feeling well enough to deal with the daily, hectic schedule of Hogwarts. Thankfully, it was over now, but Draco still had one more class to attend before dinner.

As he approached his teacher outside, the sun was still full and clear in the sky but was already showing signs of being swallowed by the horizon. The last moments of Monday would soon come to an end.

"Now that you've arrived, we shall begin."

"Yes, Professor." And Draco followed his Potions teacher out into the woods that bordered the school.

Once they had found their way in deep enough and Professor Snape spotted a clearing, he motioned them to stop.

"Tonight, Mr. Malfoy, I will be instructing you on how to bring the elements out and learning how to manipulate them…understand?"

Draco nodded.

"Then, let us start with a simple meditation. This will help you open your mind and spirit and focus on the energies around you. Please sit down."

The blonde Slytherin, for the first time that night, questioned his instructor. "On the ground, sir?"

Snape lifted his eyes to the sky as if he could draw patience from it. "Yes, Malfoy, now sit."

"Why do we have to practice out here in the Forbidden Forest?"

"I do not feel as though I should have to explain myself, but when learning to channel energies from the elements, to be surrounded by the very nature you see here provides you with a strong and wide variety of opportunities. Since it is so readily available right before you, bringing it in should require less energy. Now sit down or your lesson of wandless magical study for tonight is cancelled."

"Sorry, Professor," Draco replied to the dirt floor. He then lowered himself onto a patch of grass and waited for the Potions teacher to respond again after he was firmly seated on the ground.

"Now," Snape continued. "Please be advised that it is recommended for you to sit in a cross-legged position. In doing so, you are acknowledging, to the nature around you, that your core is exposed and you welcome all energies to use you as a vessel."

Draco obeyed by bending one leg in towards him and bringing the other over top of it; but he cut in a tiny inquiry. "Will I have to do this every time?"

"No, Mr. Malfoy. As you hone your ability to connect with the elements, conjuring them to do your bidding will become less and less tedious to the point where simple focus is all you need. Are you ready?"

"Yes, sir," Draco replied.

"So, I have knowledge that you do know basic rules of focus on wandless magic, considering you have performed some simple spells using this method, am I correct?"

Draco nodded.

"Then, beginning our first lesson shouldn't be difficult at all and I expect you to adapt well. First, you will need to learn how the elements revolve around you. Once you have figured out that aspect, it will help you locate them so you can center in on them with your mind and embrace them."

"Okay," Draco nodded his understanding, ready to start. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could get up off this god-awful ground.

"Take in the picture laid out before you and then close your eyes. Bring out your sense of concentration—the exact kind you use when performing one of your simple, wandless spells. Keeping that focus, imagine a mental image of the picture I told you to take in. Let it bleed all over your mind until that is all that surrounds you. Do you have a picture?" Snape asked as he walked around Draco, maintaining a watchful eye, monitoring his progress.

"Yes, I have one," Draco responded, his eyes remaining shut.

"What do you see?"

"It's a little strange," the student trailed off.

"I want to hear it anyway."

"Well, I don't necessarily see the original image I remember. Instead, all of these… colors—they're swirling and mixing together. They're constructing shapes of the objects from my mental image of the forest. There aren't many different kinds of colors. Just a few basic ones."

"What are they?"

"There are reds and oranges blending amongst each other into one, whenever I see them. They're reflecting off of different 'objects'. Um… there's a white swirling mist. It's all over—passing by along everything. The ground is glowing green, almost like a pulse and for some reason, I see specks of blue. They are really tiny, but they are literally everywhere."

"Anything else?"

"I feel your footsteps. Every pound on the soil is clear to me. It's very loud—almost too loud."

"Good. I see your previous knowledge of focus has helped us get to where I need you to be. Now, open your eyes very slowly, never taking a single thought away from your mental, concentrated image, and see how you now view the world around you through your conscious eyes."

Without moving a single muscle, besides his eyelids, Draco slid his eyes apart and brought out his image onto whatever was in front of him. The blends of energies did not cease, instead they covered every last piece of scenery in front of him. So now, he had a view of the normal illustration of the forest, with his subliminal view now revealed and blanketing over it.

"Do not speak," Snape ordered. "Do not break contact with what stands before you. Now, pick an object to narrow in on and, whatever your eyes are set on, analyze what color it holds. If there are many, focus on just one of the following…"

"White, for air. Blue, for water. Green, for earth. Red, for fire and warmth. Pick the first one on your mind that you wish to experiment with."

Draco found the colors he envisioned still enveloping him even now. His head was swimming, but he dared not to break the connection. He gazed at all the options, floating in front of him, and decided on the red beams of light that cascaded down from the sky and picked the spot where a few rays in particular had settled on the tree, perched in front of him. He gazed with interest as it began to burrow into the bark. The fiery color spread out in circular forms on the trunk, where ever the rays had landed. Draco never took his eyes off of that spot.

Snape allowed the boy to focus for a few seconds longer before speaking up again from behind him.

"Now, if you have chosen a color, you must allow it to enter yourself. Think of what that color is doing or what you want it to do, and make it real by letting the thought swallow up your entire body. Make your vision stand true."

Draco did not know what to expect, but did as he was told. Not one part of his body wavered in centering in on his desired task. The feeling tunneled inside him and he let it do so. It poured over him and burned every fiber of his being until…

At the base of the tree, a small area of bark had engulfed into flames. The reds and oranges that Draco had envisioned were now dancing across the surface of the trunk, licking everything it touched.

The ignition startled Draco and brought him out his 'other plane' of consciousness, but when he realized what he just did, he was happy with the results. He turned his upper body around to see if his teacher was pleased as well.

Professor Snape's face was a total mask, if there was feeling coursing through him at that moment. However, he did verbally express his thoughts.

"This evidence shows promise that you will adapt to the lessons at hand, and hopefully you can soon learn _actual_, wandless spells. This is indeed the first step in learning to conjure and manipulate the elements."

That was good enough for Draco to hear and provided a smirk in response.

"Interesting that you chose fire," Snape added.

"Why is that, sir?" Draco asked.

"As a Veela, you have the gift of learning to control and mold all four elements. But the first one you choose to work with says something about you as a person." Snape was now staring directly at Draco and nothing else; the fire that was conjured to attack the tree was very small at first but showed a sign of growing stronger. Draco hadn't noticed.

"What is it? What does it say about me?" Draco scrunched his brows together as he listened.

Snape spoke as if he were reading the context of a book and nothing more. "By you picking fire, you show a strong sense of vehemence about you. That's the closest way to describe the type of passion that, when choosing this element, embodies a person. Impulses are easy to follow and you adore challenges because they force you to bring out your level of commitment, which can be intimidating to other people. You do grow a sense of following your heart. However, this poses a problem."

"Like what, Professor?"

"This shows that you live a very conflicting life, because, as you should be well aware, living life on strictly impulse is difficult and not always smart, considering rules and the way of life—especially when you are brought up in a way that denounces living in that sort of manner. So, you hold it in and manifest it into a separate being so you can push it away, letting you get through life as unscathed as possible."

'He's creepy.'

'Will you hush?'

'I'm just saying... he doesn't know me.'

Not waiting for a response, the Potions master then brought his attention elsewhere and began to extinguish the flames that threatened to climb the tree and take the whole thing down. He raised his hand, palm side up and before Draco knew it, the entire body of fire lifted off of the tree and condensed into a small ball of flames as it floated over to Snape and hovered over his hand. Then, it vanished in the blink of an eye.

"How did you do that?" Draco couldn't stop himself from asking.

Snape stared at his pupil for a minute as if contemplating an answer and whether or not it should be spoken.

"I am definitely not a Veela… However, I do possess the ability to manipulate one element in particular. Obviously, you should know what that is now."

Draco nodded, taking in what the professor said but then immediately thought of something else and perked up again.

"So… if fire is your controllable element, does that mean the personality descriptions you gave me are true to you as well?"

"Our lesson is over," Snape insisted.

Draco uttered no more.

* * *

Tuesday morning brought the topic of complaining about schedules to the breakfast table. Harry, Ron and Hermione were already discussing their O.W.L. results and how it affected their course-study.

"I'm just grateful that my results let me continue my aspiration as a healer," Hermione stated before taking a bite of toast while reading the Daily Prophet. "However, I do want to continue my other dream in the cooperation among wizards and magical creatures."

Harry rolled his eyes in response to the latter comment, while Ron addressed the first, stuffing a sausage in his mouth before speaking. "_Let_ you continue your career path?" he asked incredulously and a few bits sprayed, to Hermione's dislike. "Based on your results, what school schedule, or career path for that matter, would you _not_ be allowed to enroll in?"

Hermione shot Ron a glare as she took another bite, chewing with her mouth closed a little exaggeratedly to get a point across to the red-head.

"Well, it is nice that some of our classes are still with each other," Harry cut in. "We all have Defense Against the Dark Arts together, as usual."

"Yeah," replied Ron. "I wonder what the new teacher will be like. Did you see her?" He began gazing at the floating candles as if they were the most beautiful things he had ever witnessed. Hermione caught this.

"No need to ask if you got a good look at her," she snapped before roughly straightening out the newspaper and hiding her face behind it. Ron didn't even notice. Harry sympathized with the poor girl.

Ron then turned his attention to Harry. "So, who do you think is gonna be the new Gryffindor Quidditch captain, now that Angelina is gone?"

"That's _right_. I forgot to tell you," Harry smacked his forehead.

"Do that again," Ron piped up.

The raven-haired teen narrowed his eyes. "Ha, ha…"

"So, what did you forget to tell me?"

"_I'm_ the new Quidditch captain. Dumbledore handed me the letter himself."

"That's great, mate!" Ron exclaimed, turning full around to face Harry—meaning his back was now towards Hermione. This, Harry believed, was enough to prevent her from interesting herself with the conversation. "I was wondering if I'd even be let back on the team this year, but now, no worries!"

"Ron," Harry sighed. "I'm taking this very seriously. I have to pick the best candidates."

"Sure thing," the red-haired teen didn't seem to be taking it in though. "But you wouldn't replace your best bloke would ya?"

Harry just shook his head, exasperated.

"So, when are you holding tryouts?" Ron ignored him.

"Dunno. I guess I should give it a little time so everyone has a chance to sign up. Er, Friday?"

"Excellent! I'll go spread the good news."

And before Harry could open his mouth to reply, Ron already hopped out of his seat and dashed out of the hall. Harry threw Hermione a pleading look, who simply replied by saying, "Don't look at me. He's your best friend." She then looked at the clock and added, "We'd better get going or we'll be late for our first lesson."

Harry nodded and gathered everything in his bag before following her out of the Great Hall.

* * *

Harry and Hermione sat next to each other in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom as they waited for Ron to arrive.

"He should have been here by now."

"He's got five minutes, Hermione."

"Well, I'm not worried." She tilted her head in the air a little. "It would serve him right."

Harry smiled, paying her no attention, as he turned his head around to see all who were in their class. He looked to the right, over Hermione's figure, and saw that Dean, Seamus, Neville and the Parvati twins all made it passed their DADA O.W.L.'s. Then, he turned to the right, but immediately frowned.

Malfoy was coming up the aisle, realizing there was only two seats left—one to the left of the Gryffindor student, on the other side of the aisle, or one behind him. Harry didn't approve of either option.

The blonde-haired Slytherin glanced at him for a second and an awkward expression swept across the aristocratic teen's face for a moment, like it always had that year, before being replaced with his usual, haughty sneer. Harry rested his eyes on the blue-eyed boy for a moment longer, after Malfoy turned his head away. He was getting tired of being baffled about his rival's peculiar behavior. One doesn't go from a menacingly annoying, all-around brat and bully to a bumbling, stammering, shy student in the course of only three months.

If anything, Harry thought, he expected Malfoy to really send the threats flying this year, with some possible action to back it up, considering Harry sent his father to Azkaban. This change, though, it was so…_weird_—far from everything Harry expected. What was going on with him?

'Maybe he went through a drastic change over the summer,' Harry thought. Not likely. He still believed Malfoy to be as shallow as they came. He turned his attention elsewhere and looked up at the clock. Class was about to begin and Ron had less than a minute or he was going to be late…

A red mop of hair poked through the classroom's entrance exactly one minute after class was scheduled to begin. Luckily, their teacher hadn't stepped out of her office yet; but she did emerge out of the door seconds after Ron dove into the seat behind Harry.

"Just in time. I had to set up the flyer for tryouts on the notice board in the common room," Ron panted, leaning forward to whisper the news.

"There shall be no talking in my class unless you raise your hand to be called…"

Her voice was as smooth as silk.

Professor Deldri glanced right at Ron with those sparkling, cerulean eyes the moment she stepped down off of the office staircase.

"Sorry, ma'am, er, Professor," Ron tripped over his words and it wouldn't stop, earning him another intense stare from the new instructor. "I'll just…shut up, now."

Professor Deldri casually smiled as she approached the teacher's desk. Many of the students seemed quite surprised as they finally had a good, close look at her; and they had good reason to do so. Their professor couldn't have been a year over thirty and that appeared to be pushing it.

Instead of having a seat in her chair, she walked around to the front of it, as if she was floating, and placed her hands on the desk behind her to pick herself up and have a seat on top of the furniture. Her legs flowed flawlessly, like the fabric of her robes, all the way to the tips of her shoes. Needless to say, she had the class' full attention. Guys gawked, some girl gazed with interest, while other females appeared ready to kick her off of her desk.

"Welcome, students, to your new Defense Against the Dark Arts class. I am Professor Sandra Deldri, as most of you are aware, but you may refer to me simply as Professor Dee. Now, let us start by taking out our textbooks and begin practicing the first lesson."

Every male in the room, aside from Harry himself—and surprisingly Malfoy—raced to dig their books out of their bags and immediately turned to the first chapter. Hermione looked over her shoulder, at Ron, and 'tsk'ed quietly before snapping her head back to face the front of the class.

'This is going to be interesting,' Harry smiled.

* * *

Harry's brain was fried beyond measure as he gasped desperately. It was bad enough that his classes were more demanding than last year, but adding this extra-curricular lesson was just plain torture.

"You are not focusing hard enough. Your strength of control must be greater than this for us to proceed any further… So typical of you, Potter."

'How about I stun and disarm you to death for half an hour and see how much you can handle control,' Harry cursed to himself.

"Forgive me, _Professor_, but how can being physically attacked help me control my transformation?"

"How dim you are," Snape scathingly replied. "And I do not recall allowing you to address me with any questions. Now, get up and try again."

Snape hovered over Harry's supine form, waiting for his command to be obeyed. His reluctant student looked up at him disbelievingly for a moment before finally attempting to get his body back up on its feet again.

Harry had no warning made available for him. As soon as he lifted his wand above his waist, Snape exclaimed the spell, "Expelliarmus!" and the battle commenced once more.

Harry held on tight to his own wand, silently ordering it to remain clasped within his fingers. It burned like hell and the painful sensation ran through his entire being. He grabbed the professor's black eyes into a dead-lock with his own. He pulled every last fiber of strength and will power he had within him to keep himself going.

He knew his fangs were exposed by now, through his gritted expression, but he didn't grace it with another thought. His fingertips were searing with excruciating agony as he could literally feel his nails being overtaken by razor-sharp replacements. The only thing that kept him putting up with it and pushing through was the pure hatred and anger he felt toward the man standing before him; and the determination to strip Snape's throat of all those smart-ass, sarcasm dripping statements.

Harry's change of motivation excelled him further than ever before because, moments later, he felt the spell being released off of him. He would have even tempted the possibility that the professor had let up on him if it wasn't for the visible shockwave of energy that cut through the air and sent his opponent flying backward.

Harry took the opportunity to regain his senses that began to feel all haywire. His chest finally stopped heaving as his potions teacher took it upon himself to stand up. The green-eyed vampire brought a finger up, raked his pointed nail along his fang and cursed—quite colorfully aloud. What happened with the potion?

"I will not tolerate that language during my lessons, Mr. Potter. Ten points from Gryffindor… It will be twenty, added by a detention, if you continue to glare at me like that," Snape threatened. He walked up closer to his pupil and said, "I suppose recognition of progress is in order. If you avidly applied this much effort during my Potions lessons, I might not be as surprised to why you made it into my N.E.W.T class."

Harry bit his lip to reserve his retort, causing it to bleed. The puncture reminded him of his original question and pulled him away from his anger. "I thought the potion was supposed to last twenty-four hours?" he inquired while licking his bottom lip.

Snape surveyed Harry for a moment before reluctantly replying, "The purpose of the potion is to help suppress your heightened emotions, preventing changes in your features. However, when you reach stress levels that surpass the potency of the mixture, it nulls the effects and transformation is inevitable. It would be safe to say that this lesson, although designed to be a _simple_ task, provided more stress than you can normally control on a regular basis."

If Harry survived his remaining after-school classes with Snape, he was sure he'd at least be a master at ignoring vindictive comments. When Harry didn't respond, the potions teacher added, "Simply take an extra sip of the potion, when needed, and continue in keeping your normal, scheduled dosage.

The sixteen year-old nodded as he reached for the flask that was fastened to his hip, underneath his robes. When the disgusting liquid hit his stomach, his fingernails and teeth no longer resembled sharp objects. He then wiped off the remaining blood, which was beginning to dry on his face and hands, with the inside of his robes.

"This lesson is now, thankfully, over. Here is your disguised pass to get you through the guard without suspicion and back to your common room." Professor Snape handed a small piece of parchment over to Harry and then added, with a raised eyebrow and a smug smirk, after the Gryffindor student took the note, "Although… the thought of you forced to spend the night out on the grounds is tempting." And with that, the professor left him without another word.

Harry was glad he drank the potion.

* * *

"Password?"

"Castellum Valens."

"Proceed."

The Fat Lady portrait granted him entrance and Harry stepped over the threshold, only to be immediately beckoned by his two best friends to have a seat with them.

"Oy, Harry. Over here," Ron waved and the green-eyed sixth-year strolled over to the sofa and sat in between the pair. "So, how was your lesson with Snape? Awful I bet. Do you still have to learn Occlumency?"

"Geez, Ronald," Hermione huffed. "Can he exhale for a moment before having to brave your bombardment of inquiries?" Ron rubbed the back of his head sheepishly before the bushy-haired girl continued. "How was it? Alright?" Concern swelled over her eyes.

"As alright as a lesson with Snape can get, I 'spose," Harry shrugged. "Still wanted to hit the bastard like always."

"What are the lessons for?" Ron cut in, unable to wait for a response any longer.

"Nothing too special. Snape is still trying to make me control my mind and learn other things that will probably help me defend myself against-"

"Don't say it." Ron covered his ears.

"-Voldemort," Harry finished, ignoring the red-head. He then started to breathe a little easier. He came up with his cover story, let it all out and it wasn't really lying. He just wasn't exposing the unnecessary details.

Hermione looked almost reluctant to buy his explanation in its entirety and asked, "What else is he going to teach you?"

"He didn't say," replied Harry; that was the truth, after all. "I guess the prude will only announce it when he sees fit, regardless of the benefit towards me-or lack there of."

"Harry, you really shouldn't refer to him like that. He is still your professor," Hermione suggested.

"Yeah, a professor who takes pride and pleasure in watching me squirm like a worm on a hook—not a very respectable character, in my opinion," Harry threw back.

Having been defeated in changing Harry's attitude, Hermione switched topics. "You know a few students have come up to me and asked about the old DA meetings we had. Have you thought about restarting Dumbledore's Army for this year? I doubt it would have to be as secret or dangerous this time."

"I have thought about it," said Harry, turning back to look at Ron for a second, who was engaged in watching two second-year students play wizards' chess and muttered 'amateurs'.

Harry turned back towards Hermione and spoke up once more. "Some of the old members asked me if it would continue this year. I said I wasn't sure. I mean, we orchestrated that group because we couldn't properly learn defensive spells when Umbridge was our teacher. We have what appears to be a competent professor in our Defense Against the Dark Arts class this year."

"That's your opinion," Hermione interjected.

"Mine too," Ron added, raising his hand but never taking his eyes off of the game. Hermione's jaw clenched.

"Anyway," Harry moved on. "I suppose it couldn't be a bad idea. It would provide extra practice for students, considering the impending war and so many people are keen about coming."

"Well, when do you propose we hold these lessons?" Hermione asked, puling out a piece of parchment with her quill at the ready.

Harry thought for a second. Did he even need the added pressure? He guessed it couldn't hurt to review defensive tactics once a week.

"How about every Monday?"

"Okay," Hermione agreed, scribbling furiously over the once-clean sheet. "I'll arrange a registration meeting to be held in the entrance courtyard next Monday."

Harry nodded his approval. "Sounds goods, but I think I'll head in early," Harry yawned. "Today was pretty gruesome." His two friends bade him goodnight as he carried himself up to his dorm room and barely got his robes off before collapsing on the bed sheets.

'So inviting.'

He pulled his blankets over himself and drifted away.

* * *

_Harry found himself in an unfamiliar area. It was thick with tension as nervousness crawled up all over his skin. He absent-mindedly rubbed his arms, underneath the sleeves of his robes, and looked around._

"_Where am I?" he asked the murkiness that engulfed him. "Hello!"_

_No answer._

"_Okay," Harry trailed off, taking a step further. The blackness beneath him rippled away from his feet with every step. Harry was nothing short of confused. Why was it so…dark? He could see his hand reaching forward—see his feet when he looked down. Everything else was just black and there was just nothing else to witness, Harry guessed._

_Then, a figure emerged and pulled away from the image of darkness; but the figure was also dim. It held the same absence of color, but Harry noticed it as a separate object from his gloomy surroundings because it was of a lighter shade._

_Hesitant at first, Harry began progressing towards the object. As he grew closer, the form grew slightly larger until it appeared to be the size of an average person. 'So, perhaps it is human,' Harry thought. He hoped so. His assumption proved to be correct as the silhouette resembled a robed person, covered from head to toe in fabric. Harry gained another step closer to the hooded being before addressing it._

"_Er, hello? Who are you?"_

_The character was at least a little coherent because it responded by raising its head a little. Apparently, its back was turned towards Harry, but it still gave an impression of being quite interested in him. It kept looking from side to side, as if trying to find out who uttered the question._

"_Um… my name's Harry. Wh-what's yours?"_

_The stranger shook their head furiously._

"_Okay?" Harry blinked a few times. "Can you tell me anything?"_

_They shook their head again._

"_Why not?"_

_There was a pause and then, the being shrugged._

"_Well…may I come over?"_

_The hooded stranger paused again and then nodded their head this time. Harry cautiously walked closer until he was only three feet away. He was so intent on finding out who the mysterious person was that he didn't realize what he was approaching; and what happened next was something Harry never experienced._

_A strong, tingling sensation overwhelmed him and surged through his entire body in the blink of an eye. Startled at first, Harry tried to pull away, realizing what was going on. He was picking up on the person's emotions; but what emotion was this? It was undeniably strong. It intoxicated him to no end and a swell of dizziness took over his mind._

_Harry was thinking no longer—just inviting the feeling. It completely consumed him in a manner of minutes and the _passion_ was so… severe. Without noticing what he was doing, he drew closer to the elusive individual, desperate to touch them. Oddly enough, when he stretched out his hand and placed it on the person's shoulder, the stranger didn't retract. It was quite the opposite. They willingly responded to it, rising up into Harry's touch._

_He stepped forward until their back was resting on his chest. The heat radiating off of their bodies was maddening. What was this…desire? So powerful. The deepest feeling Harry ever felt._

_He craved more. He felt like his very blood was feeding off of it; but as he began to bring his arms around their body to explore, the figure was fading away. Harry began to panic as he barely traced his fingers across their soft lips before he was violently yanked away from the scene._

* * *

Harry's upper body bolted off the bed. Sweat poured over his skin in rivets and he couldn't catch his breath. His eyes screamed for an explanation, scanning over the dark dorm room, believing an answer had to lie somewhere. His demand was only answered by the awkward lullaby of his school-mates' snores.

"What in the bloody-"

He could still feel it all, right down to the feeling of the person's lips on this two fingertips. He raised them up to his own pair and pressed gently as if that would suffice for the kiss he had been so eager to possess moments ago.

Harry was embarrassed to say the least. Luckily, his subconscious adventure wasn't audible enough to stir the others out of their beds so they could witness the dramatic moment, through Harry's sleeping form, and have a good laugh; but the feeling that ran over him during his encounter… it was far from funny. It was so strong, it ached—literally in certain areas.

Harry sighed in defeat and fell back on his pillow. Unbeknownst to him as to why the dream even occurred in the first place, he gave up on it and forced himself to go back to sleep. Eventually—and unfortunately—a dreamless slumber crept over Harry's mind for the remainder of the night…

* * *

Draco lied in bed, clearly frustrated.

'So close.'

'You're not helping.'

He feared of moving, so he remained still. What he was afraid of, he didn't know.

Was the dream an acceptance of what his heritage fated him to accomplish? He was willing to refuse, but his soul wouldn't allow it. The touch, the fingertips sweeping across his lips, the fervent desire for more. It was too much proof to deny what he was feeling. He'd be a fool to refuse how pleasurable that experience had been.

He felt Harry for the first time, despite it being just a dream; and for once in his entire life, Draco actually wanted more—to be with Harry, impossible as it seemed.

'I knew you'd come around, eventually.'

'I'll castrate it, I swear.'

'You wouldn't.'

'...'

'Good night.'

Draco rolled over here and there, unable to get comfortable, wishing for the dream to return where it left off. When he finally fell asleep, though, his vision was no where to be found.

**_... to be continued..._**


	9. Classes Begin: Issues

**Harry Potter and the Love of a Veela**

**Chapter 9 - Classes Begin**

_(Issues)_

By: Schittlez

The course of the month flew by in a manner of minutes, Harry felt; and before he knew it, October had already taken over the present. So many tasks filled his schedule to the brim and time really was a fleeting dream.

His evening lessons with Snape were continuing, to his displeasure, and he was slightly improving—at the expense of his energy and sanity.

Harry also re-instated Dumbledore's Army and stayed true to his word by holding classes every Monday evening. The headmaster himself got wind of it in no time and held a private meeting with Harry about the situation. To the teen's surprise, however, Dumbledore agreed to let it continue as long as it did not interfere with or disrespect Professor Deldri's curriculum. The only catch was that Harry had to provide a detailed report on progress and what was covered; and he had to hand it in to Professor Dumbledore every Friday ("All I ask is that you keep me updated. It is _my_ army after all, right?")

To add to tiring matters, Quidditch season was in play and Harry arranged for practices to be held every Wednesday and Friday; though the real issue occurred when the Gryffindor tryouts session ensued and the results were posted. In Harry's decision of creating the team roster, he replaced the current Keeper. He knew he'd be snuffed for the rest of the school year by a certain someone, but he whole-heartedly believed he made the best choice. The blonde-haired, green-eyed fifth year, Peter Gladwell, was insanely quick on a broom; so much so, Harry_ almost_ considered the guy to be competition. The new Keeper also had decent reflexes and could hold his own in strength far better than just pretty well.

Unfortunately, the resentment followed him everywhere.

"_That hurts, Harry. That really hurts. You replaced your best mate over a guy you barely know!"_

"_He was the best at tryouts, Ron. You saw him. It's a great addition to the team and I'd be a ruddy fool to pass that up. Besides, I posted you as second Keeper. So, if he can't play, you're in the game. And you still have to attend every practice... Why are you so mental!"_

"_Whatever."_

After that heated argument, Ron began acting the way he did when Harry had his name unintentionally called and he became a champion contestant at the Triwizard Tournament during his fourth year at Hogwarts. Those were definitely the kind of memories Harry never wanted to resurface; but now he was forced to relive them. He was completely ignored and was reduced to having to hear snide remarks behind his back.

Harry's intensified hearing picked up on them very well whenever Ron was in the same room, no matter how far away the red-head distanced himself. If it wouldn't have caused the vampire teen to look suspicious, Harry would have had every nerve to march up to the unforgivable git and confront him with a few choice words of his own.

But all he could do was sigh when he witnessed a glare headed his way from Ron, all the way from the other side of the long, dinner table that night. The raven-haired Gryffindor stabbed his chops rather viciously and lost himself in a world that knew of nothing but pure rage; and it strengthened by the second.

Harry was yanked out of his 'other planet' all too quickly and the startled boy whipped around, facing away from the table, with his knife still in hand. Hermione hadn't expected such a greeting and couldn't suppress the shriek that escaped her lips. Harry only mumbled an apology before turning back around to brood over his plate.

Hermione helped herself to the vacant seat to Harry's right and lowered her head to try and make eye contact. "Harry?" she whispered. "Are you alright?"

"What do you think?" he grumbled in his goblet as he took a sip from it.

Hermione looked up towards the end of the table. Harry followed her lead as they both rested their gaze on the main cause of Harry's misery—who was still staring in their direction and produced a sneer that could rival Malfoy's. Harry growled in reply and turned his attention back to his cold dinner.

"Harry," Hermione sighed. "Please don't let Ron get to you. You know how he is."

"A miserable prat," Harry threw back.

"Well, he feels it's always hard to have to compete with you. To him, he sees everyone noticing you as 'Harry Potter' and him as just Ron ol' Weasley. He felt that if he stayed on the Quidditch team and was good at it, he would at least be level with you in that aspect. Besides, you know how much he loves the game."

"Hermione, if you came here to side with that nutcase about my decision and if you even _try_ to defend his uncalled-for behavior, so help me I'll-"

"No, Harry. That's not it. I believe you truly tried to do what was best for the team, but remember that Ron is hurting, too. Is a sport worth all that?"

"Yeah, well, I'm not the one who's deliberately being out of line like an immature first-year," Harry snapped as he stood up from the table. "And just remember this Hermione," he added as he looked down at the sandy-haired girl with scorn in his eyes. "Not _once_ have I _ever_ tried to hurt _his_ feelings on purpose!"

With that said, he left the Great Hall with great haste. His head was submerged in anger as he trotted towards the Grand Staircase.

Maybe his choice for the team was a bad decision. If he had let Ron stay on the team, he wouldn't be going through this—he had enough stress on his plate; but the damage was done and because of his so-called best friend's reaction, Harry didn't even want to let him have his position back.

The swirling emotions were getting to become too much and Harry needed an outlet fast…

He found the perfect one.

Draco Malfoy was coming up the steps of the staircase that came from the dungeon level and was about to cross paths with the enraged boy. The Slytherin noticed Harry instantly, but the Gryffindor's plan was unbeknownst to him.

Without waiting for any comment, Harry addressed Malfoy as soon as they were only five feet away from each other.

"You haven't been flanked by your cronies lately, Malfoy…" Harry smirked as the blonde-haired boy drew his attention to him. "Did your father's imprisonment help them finally realize that being a deadbeat is hereditary and now, because of it, you're not as popular as you used to be?"

It was cruel, but it felt good to Harry to let it out and make someone else miserable. He was actually hoping for Malfoy to lash out in retaliation. He was literally itching for a fight; he needed to vent.

However, the scene that played before him was the complete opposite. Malfoy walked by him as the comment was uttered; and instead of lunging at his sworn enemy when he turned around and realized what Harry said, the Slytherin just stood there in shock. He glared at first, obviously wanting to strangle his opponent. Then, he narrowed his eyes, holding a contorted face of hurt... Malfoy actually appeared as though he was in pain.

Finally, without saying a word during the entire confrontation, the silver-eyed Slytherin turned back around and quickly walked away; leaving Harry completely alone in a hallway for the second time since the school year started.

Harry was beyond pissed. Malfoy was not supposed to ignore him! He was supposed to go mad with anger, just as Harry was now. He wanted to chase after the boy and drag him back; but his adversary had already entered the Great Hall and there was no way that he was going back in there.

His blood boiled to the top of his head; he could feel his whole body grow hot. What the hell was wrong with Malfoy! The bastard didn't even throw a comeback.

Harry began to notice that his foe was becoming a shell of his former self. He was more shy and restrained; and if Harry didn't know any better, he would swear that the boy was sick somehow. Perhaps his senses were over-analyzing the situation, but Malfoy was paler in every way of the word. His skin, his hair—even his personality and stature—were fading away. Was the guy really ill?

To top it all off, Malfoy's reaction to his insult really got under his skin. The blonde sixth-year didn't even throw himself out there, as Harry had grown to expect. On the contrary, the teenager seemed to step back; he looked genuinely hurt. Maybe he went too far.

Why did he care? It was not the first time that either one of them tried to deliver vocal punches that were downright cruel and cynical—and were absolutely intended to do so. Still, something about Malfoy that night stuck with Harry and made him feel slightly remorseful. He even almost had the nerve to feel ashamed for what he did.

"Great," Harry scoffed at the empty corridor. "Something else to feel guilty about. Thanks a lot, Malfoy!"

He couldn't win no matter what he did.

Harry cursed every foul word he knew as he stomped up the steps; a few paintings gasped with disapproval while others told him what they thought of him with a few of their own favorite words. Sir Cadogan was amidst a one-on-none battle with a gentleman in a portrait, who was ignoring him, when the knight's ear caught wind of Harry's statements; but his helmet had fallen over his eyes, rendering him unable to witness the culprit. All he could do was reply, "Who bears the mouth of a savage? Alright, Come out! Come out like a man and fight... Why's it so dark?"

Harry ignored them all as he trudged up the winding, floating staircases. When he reached the seventh landing, he threw the password at the Fat Lady rather loudly, who reluctantly let him in.

"My word! If I didn't have to let you in, I'd lock you out until you learned some manners."

The raven-haired Gryffindor couldn't care less. He fell on the sofa in the common room with a huff and was thankful that he was alone for at least a spare moment. Surprisingly, the area was completely devoid of any other student; but he did leave the dinner table rather early.

He could feel his nerves prickling like they were electrified, and he knew he was undergoing a breaking point. Not taking any chances, he reached for his hip-flask and forced down a liberal amount more than a sip of the gag-wrenching potion.

Afterwards, his body grew numb to the volcanic heat of the emotions coursing through the blood of his veins. At least, he was able to think straight; but the anguish and resentment did not go away, despite Harry's hope. Those feelings burned to the very core.

Harry leaned back, running his hands through his hair. The long strands fell back onto his neck as he let out a very audible sigh, mixed with a groan; but the groan didn't come from his throat. His stomach was the source.

He rolled his eyes as he could actually feel his insides twist and rack with hunger. How long had it been since he last fed? Nevertheless, there was no point ignoring the issue. So, he grudgingly called upon the ever faithful house-elf.

"Dobby?"

The name echoed in the empty room and, a few seconds later, a small creature with long, bat-like ears and a matching nose appeared with a 'pop' and greeted Harry happily, bowing the moment he entered the common room. His appearance caused Harry's demeanor to soften ever-so slightly.

However, something was missing from the picture, Harry realized; and it was not the rainbow of belts and mittens that bunched up across Dobby's waists and hands. Harry had called the house-elf a few times over the past month that the loyal creature began to realize the Gryffindor's pattern and eventually came to answer the boy's call with raw meat already laden over a silver platter, without the young vampire having to ask anymore; but the elf's hands were empty—save for the ridiculous amount of piling fabric.

"I take it Hermione hasn't given up on S.P.E.W.," Harry chuckled as the house-elf almost fell over from all the weight.

"Yes, master Harry," Dobby smiled sheepishly. "Dobby doesn't mean to keep going behind Miss Granger's back, sir. Dobby hasn't had the heart to tell her that she's starting to really anger some of the cleaning elves. She didn't listen to Dobby before anyway…" The wobbly creature proceeded to take a step further but fell flat on his face.

Harry immediately dove down to help him back up on his feet.

"Thank you, sir."

"I thought Hermione stopped knitting for you guys. I haven't seen her doing any sewing lately."

"She has been doing it a lot less often, thankfully," Dobby sighed. "Although, every now and again, Dobby catches her putting these out and Dobby grabs them before the other elves come to clean. Dobby's not able to catch them all, sir, but it's much less severe this year," Dobby nodded hopefully.

"That's nice," Harry trailed off. "Say, Dobby… You wouldn't happen to be able to go back to the kitchens and bring me the usual, would you? I know I might have caught you off guard by calling you so early, but since no one's here right now…"

For the first time during their meeting, the house-elf looked terrified of answering Harry's question. He was wringing his hands together nervously, which only looked like he was rubbing the thick stacks of mittens around each other.

"Dobby? What's the matter?"

"Please don't be upset with Dobby, sir. But these are orders straight from the Headmaster."

"Orders?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "What orders?"

"Master Dumbledore made it very clear to Dobby that Dobby was no longer able to deliver meals to master Harry."

Harry could not believe what he was hearing. The incredible amount of ridiculousness made him almost laugh with astonishment; but Dobby's frightened glance never wavered and the Gryffindor's eyes went larger.

"Are you serious?"

The house-elf unwillingly nodded.

"But… how could he forbid something like that? That's insane!" Harry looked to the small creature for some sign of a joke, but he received none. "Come on, Dobby. You've never been the best at following rules. Can't you let this fly by?"

His pleading stare didn't alter the circumstances at all.

"Master Dumbledore made Dobby swear, sir," the elf repeated. "He was most terrifying about it. Dobby rarely sees the Headmaster look so stern. It still makes Dobby tremble."

Harry wasn't going to accept that and tried to get closer to the elf. "Come on, Dobby, I-"

But the house-elf squeaked and disapparated right before his eyes. His mouth remained gaped open as his hands stretched out to where Dobby stood only moments before. His fingers clenched together, grasping at thin air, wishing he could bring the elf back and make him admit that he was only having a go at Harry.

The growl erupting in his mid-section, though, brought him back to the reality of the situation.

"How could he?" he whispered to the flames resting in the fireplace before him.

Small groups of students were slowly piling into GryffindorTower. Harry was none the wiser. His eyes remained wide, his pupils dilated; proof that he was still residing in another zone. His brain even completely dismissed the fact that he was throwing out short responses to the passing students who greeted him. He was completely absent-minded. Luckily, they easily gave up on making idle chit-chat; it could have been because the mask on Harry's face made him appear like he was teetering on the edge of insanity, causing them to cautiously walk away.

Harry paid no mind. He had a much more pressing matter to deal with. What was he going to do about his 'hunger' problem? The set up he had going was working perfectly. Why had Dumbledore cut off from helping him? Didn't the professor sincerely state that he would aid in any way possible? Why the sudden act of disapproval?

Harry felt strongly that if ever there was a point in time he felt the worst possible hatred burning towards Professor Dumbledore, it was that moment. The audacity of the decision pushed him far past his previous anger earlier that night, if such a feat was possible. He decided that no explanation would be acceptable.

Harry brought his hands up and buried his face in them, slowly shaking his head side-to-side, trying to accomplish the impossible task of clearing his mind. What was he supposed to do now? He could attempt to maim and torture his foolish Headmaster; he felt very tempted to do so, but his immediate focus needed to be on how he was going to feed.

He supposed he could start hunting, which was what Snape had instructed him to do; but he erased the thought the second it surfaced. Harry was getting accustomed to having a hunger for blood only recently; and finally stopped cringing at the sight of uncooked meat. How the hell could he work up the nerve to actually hunt and kill living creatures?

He had Dumbledore's pass to get by the guards and enter the Forbidden Forest. That way, he'd be covered if he ever ran a little late after curfew. It stated that he was merely helping Hagrid with groundskeeper duties. However, Harry never had the intention of using it. There was no way he would allow himself to hunt. He was not going to stoop that low. Doing so would force him to honestly come to terms with being a vampire and having to fully embrace it. He did not concern himself with the fact that, in not doing so, he was a coward. Under no circumstances would he commit that act.

Lost in thought, Harry glanced at the clock resting on the table in front of him, taking in the time. It read 7:56 p.m.…

"Oh, for the love of Merlin!" Harry frantically got up off the couch. Could his night get any worse? Meanwhile, his antics had turned quite a few heads. "Sorry," he mumbled as he began racing towards the portrait hole to be let out.

It was Tuesday and he was running late for his meeting with his Potions teacher. He should have been there by eight o'clock sharp and he had only a few minutes left, which were quickly ticking by, to get there in time. All thoughts were thrown into the wind as he hopped over steps and almost over the very students he passed. Two in particular had familiar faces.

"Harry? What are you-"

"Can'ttalkHermionegottogobye!"

It took a fraction of a second to address Hermione as he jumped down the last five remaining steps from the staircase and zipped by her and Ron. Immensely stupefied, the pair could only watch as Harry tore down the remainder of the hallway, past the emptying Great Hall, and ran out the entrance doors.

"What was that all about?" Hermione asked no one in particular, not moving from her spot.

"Don't know, don't care." Ron tried to make his words sound hollow, but even he could not help himself from letting a little wonder etch onto his face.

* * *

Even though the moon was not yet whole, its pale light was intense as it shined down from the naked sky and onto the clearing within the Forbidden Forest; and even though Harry could have sworn that he was on time—although barely—the Head of Slytherin's expression depicted otherwise.

"You are exactly… one minute and fifty seconds late," drawled Professor Snape as he noted his watch. "One-hundred and ten seconds. So, it would only be fit for me to deduct, let's see… eleven points from Gryffindor."

'Leave it to you, Snape, to make my can't-get-any-worse day worse,' Harry cursed to himself as he quickly regained control of his breathing. The caving in his lungs died away in less than a few seconds.

"Sorry, _Professor_," was Harry's unenthusiastic reply, stating no more. He knew excuses would do no good with this man.

"Hmph… I'm sure you are," Snape sneered as he drew closer to the boy. "Either way, we are starting where we left off last week. I hope you can at least recollect that information."

Harry clenched his teeth. "Yes, _sir_. We were discussing wandless and elemental magic."

"And what about the topic was covered?"

"That it is prudent for one to learn the basic principals of wandless magic before they tap into elemental magic."

"And what about the relationship between vampires and elemental magic," Snape continued, showing no sign of being impressed by Harry's ability to retain what was learned.

Harry sighed before he replied. Were they going to do nothing but review previous lessons? In any case, he answered the question. He was too tired to argue. "Vampires possess the natural ability to learn elemental magic. However, they possess the power of only one element and, depending on the individual vampire's strength, could potentially learn others, but it is extremely uncommon."

"Go on…"

"Furthermore, his or her potential to adapt to their own designated element is also dependent on the individual's strength. Just because they have the ability does not mean they can master it."

After Harry finished, Snape looked over the boy with demeaning eyes and held no praise whatsoever.

"Well, Mr. Potter. Our lesson continues with the discussion of wandless magic. Listen closely for I will not repeat myself." The professor paused once more, peering down at the sixth-year again; although the student was now only a couple of inches from being eye-to-eye with Snape.

"The important factor to remember about this field of magical study is that wandless magic is raw magic. Do you understand what that portrays?" Harry shrugged his shoulders and a haughty grin swept across Snape's face. "How very surprising… when tapping into raw magic, one is tapping into their life energy. In other words, performing this form of spellwork drains a person's life. This is a key reason as to why it is not commonly performed, practiced or taught.

"The use of a wand siphons the energy; and since it holds an essence of its own, it requires a substantial amount less needed to perform magic than the spell would require if the person did not have a 'filter' if you will. Still, some wizards and witches are seen performing wandless magic. However, if you notice, it is never frequent. It is performed by older or stronger wizards and the spells they usually cast are simple, meaning it required a small amount of energy either way. _Now_ do you understand?"

"Yes," Harry replied; but there was another question… "Professor, if that's all true, then why do I have to learn it?"

"I merely asked if you followed thus far. I did not permit you to ask a question."

Harry's hands tightened into fists before he even knew what he was doing. The day had definitely taken its toll and the price was high. He presumed he would be okay, though, since he recently took a sip of the potion. However, something still didn't feel quite right, Harry thought. He couldn't put his finger on it, but whatever it was, it was not good.

On the other hand, Professor Snape reveled in getting under his student's skin; and if it was not for the fact that the lesson had little time left to be finished, Harry was sure that his instructor would be twisting the knife in even more.

"To answer your question, it is simple… You are a vampire. Therefore, you obviously hold a life energy that far surpasses a normal wizard's. Even some moderate wandless spells, performed by a creature like that, only drain as much power as a basic spell would on a mediocre wizard in comparison. Meaning the amount required is noticeable, but is still a very small fraction of the person's energy as a whole. So, even though performing spells on that level sucks out life force, it is not enough to adequately shorten one's lifespan. Furthermore, a vampire's life energy is constantly replenished by feeding, making it seem as though their energy source is unlimited. Are we clear now?

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded.

"Now, before we begin an actual lesson on practicing the focus and performance of wandless magic, I want to make absolutely sure you are capable to proceed further. So, we will practice some more on resisting spells. Once it appears you can execute it at a level of flawlessness, we will move on... let us begin."

Harry acknowledged his teacher by grabbing his wand… and he was thrown immediately to the ground by Snape's spell.

There was nothing in the world he would not give to be able to strangle the crooked-nosed bastard.

"You must be prepared at a moment's notice and not a second more. Do you think an enemy in battle would wait until you are ready? Not everyone bends to the needs of the 'famous' Potter. Would the Dark Lord do such thing?... Arrogance will get you killed."

Despite the fact that some good points resided in that verbal blast from Snape, his methods enraged the Gryffindor boy; and Harry was not in a forgiving mood. To make matters worse, the twisting feeling in his gut returned with a vengeance. Where was the pain coming from? Why did it hurt so much?

He had no time to dwell on those inquiries because his professor was already addressing him again.

"You are wasting time, Potter. I do not have all night to babysit you. Now get up, let's go again, and this time, _be prepared_."

Harry braced himself as soon as he was back on his feet—and deservedly so. By the time he rose up and his knees straightened, the word "Stupefy", and the spell that followed, was shoved in his direction. The stunning spell surrounded him in a glory of red sparks. It was all he could do to resist it, but even though he learned how, it was proving to be quite hard. It felt as impossible as it did during his first lesson.

"You should be past this stage, Potter," Snape yelled over the whirling noise of his spell that had yet to take its opponent down. "This spell should have been deflected the moment it approached you. That is where your strength and focus needs to be. At this rate, you will never progress."

The Potions master's venomous cries were in a distant place when Harry heard them. He was trying to focus, but the more he tried, the more he felt like he was slipping...

The duel between teacher and student seemed to stretch into eternity, but it was only a manner of minutes before a victor was discovered. Snape's stunning won over Harry; but although it finally overcame the young Gryffindor and hit him square in the chest, the sixth-year did not fall backward. Instead, once the spell dissipated, the boy merely sunk to his knees and hunched forward, resting his upper-body weight on his hands.

Professor Snape watched Harry's back heave up and down as ragged breaths quickly entered and exited the pupil's lungs. He took it upon himself to advance towards the boy as he smirked smugly.

"It is a good thing I do not overestimate you, Mr. Potter, or I would unavoidably become increasingly disappointed in you with every passing session…" The teacher found it a little weird when he received no response from Harry—not even the usual glare, but he continued to walk forward.

"What, no snide comment? Are we admitting defeat?"

…Still no retort…

"Potter, I implore you to address your professor of I will start scheduling detentions."

The response Snape received, conversely, was not the one he had in mind.

Harry's body ended up convulsing uncontrollably, only ten feet away. The violent tremors produced within the student's muscles caused the hooked-nosed tutor to completely arrest his feet from moving any farther. All arrogance aside, the teacher actually allowed emotion to glaze over his eyes. Was it fear? Was it anger? Either way, Professor Snape was rooted to the ground, gazing at the horrific sight.

Harry's entire form twitched and shivered. The boy's fingers dug into the earth beneath him as his head shot up to face the night sky. His eyes glowed with the color of blood and his fangs had fully protruded underneath his pale, rose-colored lips. His hair blew through the air from an unknown force as he let out one of the deepest, guttural growls Snape had ever heard.

The teacher strained to collect himself, almost as if he was clashing with his own thoughts; but eventually, he began approaching the boy once more.

"Mr. Potter, I suggest you cease this charade immediately. As I stated before, I do not have time to waste on you and if you do not heed my command, I feel no regret—even in the slightest—in having to use force, regardless of whether or not you are a student."

The young vampire finally perked up to Snape's voice and countered, albeit not in a verbal way.

Harry slowly rose from the ground, never taking his bloodthirsty eyes away from his instructor. The fiery hue ebbed away, but the intensity of his stare never wavered. His green orbs displayed a passion that his whole body agreed with…

Hunger.

Harry held his menacing gaze steady as he walked closer to Snape—who had once again closed down his efforts in advancing in the direction of the creature. The unbridled Gryffindor didn't mind. He was going to have his way no matter what. His veins were pulsing and his head throbbed so much, he compelled himself to end all thoughts—just react; react to the blood-rush that was swelling inside him. He no longer knew what he was doing or was capable of. He was relying on pure instinct.

Harry's pace began to quicken as he flexed his fingers—equipped with claws, dripping with crimson fluid. Snape knew there was no getting through to the boy. So, devoid of contemplating it any longer, he made an attempt to raise his wand and subdue his maniacal student.

However, the tables turned in the blink of an eye, as the professor felt two, insanely strong grips in two different locations. It was all happening too fast. One hand cuffed his wand-wrist while the other immediately lunged at his throat. Simultaneously, Snape felt an enormous amount of pressure delivered to his chest and before he could comprehend a single, flashing thought, he was shoved to the ground.

The wind was knocked out of his lungs instantly and the Potions teacher gagged as his wide, black eyes looked up at Harry. The responsive look he received was cold and psychotic. The vampire's hands remained clasped onto their original targets as he planted himself on top of Snape, crouched onto the man's chest.

The strength Harry emitted was astounding as he rolled his head around, wildly surveying his prey. He let a villainous leer form on his face before he divided his lips to reveal the glistening, pointed teeth that were ready to dive into Snape's throat. Harry yearned for it... his veins were howling for nourishment, spasming inside him. He was going to take what was rightfully his.

Nothing could stop him… no one…

**_... to be continued..._**

**Dun Dun DUN! Soap opera music**

**Slythindor: You're pathetic. Don't give my wonderful, dramatic creation such a lame ending! dun, dun, dun?! What _is_ that?! Have I taught you nothing!**

**Gryfferin: (eyes closed)... think of a happy place... happy place... happy place...**

**Slythindor: (sneaks up behind him)... I WANT BLOOD!**

**Gryfferin: AHH! Oh Merlin, help me! (squeals and runs out the door)**

**Tiger Heart: Was that necessary?**

**Slythindor: (rolls eyes) What? I haven't done it in a while. Blame yourself. You haven't let us out for so long. I was built-up.**

**Tiger Heart: (glares)... of all muses, why you two?**

**Slythindor: (shrugs)**


	10. Changes: Giving In

**Harry Potter and the Love of a Veela**

**Chapter 10 – Changes**

(_Giving in - Part 1_)

By: Schittlez

The strength Harry emitted was astounding as he rolled his head around, wildly surveying his prey. He let a villainous leer form on his face before he divided his lips to reveal the glistening, pointed teeth that were ready to dive into Snape's throat. Harry yearned for it... his veins were howling for nourishment as they began to spasm inside him. He was going to take what was rightfully his.

Nothing could stop him… no one…

No one—except Professor Snape.

The teacher threw his arm back, ripping it away from Harry's grasp. He then clenched onto the teen's other hand—wrapped around his throat—as his own, growing nails dug into his pupil's skin. When they pierced into the cold, pale flesh, Snape definitely got a reaction out of his adversary.

The pain caused Harry to growl, baring his fangs even harder. The sight of the copper fluid, seeping out of his own skin, drove him crazier; the boy was relentless—and Snape had no choice.

Disregarding any consequences or how much pain he would induce, the professor wrenched Harry's hand away with surprising force. His black irises began to bleed, covering his eyes with a veil of the inky color. He tightly gripped the student's robes and completely threw him off guard with his next move.

Snape's motion was fluid, swift and powerful; and before Harry knew it, an insurmountable amount of strength thrust him against a tree and pinned him roughly against the bark.

The raven-haired Gryffindor wore a startled look for a brief amount of time; but his wide eyes returned to emerald slits as he snarled with loathing. The fact that Snape had enough physical strength to revolve the tides and corner Harry; the fact that the professor was gouging the young vampire's skin with his own weapons, in the form of nails; and the fact that the Potions master was now also baring fangs that were attached to a face that was masked with pure darkness and eyes of malice—empty of any white or sign of innocence; it was all lost to Harry… He was nothing but a starving animal.

Professor Snape curled his lip up in disgust as he gripped the boy tighter around the collar and brought him dangerously close to his own face.

"When was the last time you fed?!" It wasn't a question. It was an aggressive command that should have been answered quickly if Harry didn't want to truly experience what death and the chains of the underworld felt like when they embodied someone; but Harry was not bright in Snape's opinion.

The young vampire's feet was only inches off the ground as he kicked and blindly clawed, desperately trying to claim even a small piece of the person in front of him, who he saw as food.

The older vampire growled and audibly 'tsk'ed with frustration. He raised his captive higher and shoved him hard against the splintery wood once more. It ended Harry's snarls and wild movements, finally, as the Gryffindor slowed his antics and was now only focused on freeing himself. Never breaking eye contact, or letting his brutal gaze fade, the teenager made an attempt to claw at his tutor's hand that held firm; creating incisions with his nails and raking through the professor's skin.

Despite rage, any emotion dwelling inside Snape was expertly masked, even pain—if the man really felt any.

"Damnit, Potter! I am not giving you the luxury to decide whether or not you can defy me! Do _not_ make me hurt you. This is nothing, I promise. Now… _when_ was the last time you _fed_!"

For the first time since Harry's transformation, the green-eyed vampire parted his lips to speak—rather than howl like a wild animal.

"It would be now if you let me go…" Harry barked out. His voice was still not his own; like he had stolen the sound of a demonic monster and put it in own throat. "I could make it painless when I end your life, but I'll only be cruel if you keep fighting me, you pest! What is the point of being alive anyway? Your existence has always been pathetic. That's why you were treated the way you were by my father. You are nothing but a miserable specter… that's what you'll always be. Do us all a favor: Roll over and die already or I will rip the very flesh from your bones before I devour you!"

And once again, the boy resorted back to flailing and fighting his enemy. Snape could only watch in awe at the drive that enveloped Harry's eyes. He was a completely different person. Professor Snape was no longer engaging with Harry Potter, he was holding up a feral beast. The student had no debilitating emotion in the slightest; he now existed purely for blood.

Snape's short slip into absence earned him a deep gash along his pale cheek. The rip in his skin ripped him back into reality and thinking was no longer a part of the plan.

He reared his arm back, jerking Harry forward once more. Their eyes were locked in an electrifying war. Their faces were so close, the two quarreling vampires could literally feel the heat from the aura radiating off of each other; and in a split second, Snape threw him up against the tree for the third time. The conviction he drew out of himself caused the wood to vertically splinter apart right behind Harry's back and the boy, although stronger in this circumstance, was not immune to the blunt force trauma.

The younger vampire's head fell backward from the shock; his mouth gaped open and his green orbs dizzily gazed at the twinkling sky. Or maybe all the twinkling lights were emitted from his head to show his eyes the disorientation his was experiencing.

To add to the testing of Harry's pain threshold, the back of Snape's hand swiftly swept across the Gryffindor's face with a loud 'thwack!' and his head lolled from the back to the side. Even though the sting on his cheek added greatly to the list of burning, sharp, unbearable sensations all throughout Harry's body, that one particular spot of heat, in the shape of a hand, slightly brought him back to the world of consciousness.

All of the pain tackled and engulfed his previous twinge of hunger and without having to be forced to focus on that, a feeling of alertness finally took over Harry's senses.

The confused Gryffindor slowly drew his face to look at his attacker. His eyes were full of bewilderment as he scrunched his eyebrows together. The green hue that had completely bled over his objects of sight was fading rapidly and Harry was graced with the eyes of his mother once more.

He didn't know they had changed back; he could barely comprehend anything. He had an idea, though, and quickly began to piece it together, along with the reason why Snape had inflicted so much violence upon him; Harry reminded himself of a similar situation involving him and Lupin.

Therefore, he thought his current focus should have been addressing the professor, although it would probably prove to be difficult, considering the teacher's glare was burrowing into Harry, still, at that very moment. Snape's gaze was full of warning and he looked prepared to rip Harry's throat out…

…And when did the man have fangs?!

"P-professor?" Harry weakly said, hoping the response was as painless as possible…

…it wasn't.

Before the sixth-year could even realize what the Head of Slytherin was doing, Harry felt sharp tears in his chest as Professor Snape gripped his robes even tighter. The evidently dominant opponent yanked the boy away from the tree for the last time and tossed him backward with such a thrust that Harry became a human projectile for a short moment before colliding hard with the rugged, dirt floor. He landed stomach-side up and slid to a halt near another tree on the other side of the clearing.

Harry curled into a fetal position, his nerves exploding in agony from head to toe. His blood swirled and crashed like waves against jagged rocks as he once again began to feel light-headed. He did not know how much more of a mauling he could withstand, but the older vampire was already on top of him again.

Harry turned his head sideways and looked up at his so-called teacher, who looked back at him with soulless, black eyes.

"Sir, please! Stop!" Harry blurted out. He was pleading to a man whom he never usually gave the time of day. Never in a million years would he have been willing to bet that he would ever beg to Severus Snape, of all people. This was definitely a secret he was taking to his grave, but what choice did he have? And what the hell had he done that was so unforgiveable to deserve being beaten around like a bludger?

On top of that, when had the Potions teacher become a vampire?! Harry was too focused on his assailant's attacks to fully conceive the fact that his instructor was just like Harry in the sense that he was also a blood-sucking creature. Unfathomable as it was, Harry was looking up at a fang-equipped face that was overflowing with malevolence. Why hadn't he noticed it before?

Either way, Snape's rampage continued to ensue as the shadow cast onto Harry's legs by the eerie moonlight began to grow and creep over his entire body as the professor reached down and seized the collar of Harry's attire once more.

He pulled his student up in air, raising him as high as his arm would allow. The man's face was expressionless; making it seem like the task of holding up someone with one hand was effortless.

Gravity pulled Harry against his robes and he could feel the fabric clenching around his neck—growing tighter by the second. He reached for Snape's hand and his fingers began assaulting it, trying to loosen its grip; but the professor's knuckles were white and tense—and his fingers showed no sign of separating.

Harry's hands became desperate as he felt a ring around his neck grow hotter and more constricting. He made one last attempt to reason with his teacher.

"P-professor…" Harry gasped as he gave up his efforts on prying open Snape's grasp and began tugging on his collar, frantic to loosen the material from around his throat as he began to feel faint. "E-enough… please!"

"Begging are we? Now who's pathetic?" Snape growled, jostling Harry as he replied. "You were so easily ready to hand my dead body over. Why should you receive the luxury of having your life spared?"

Harry's body received a few more jerks from the professor as he ranted on; but his captive seemed to be slowly slipping away from reality the longer he hung from the teacher's extremity. Snape took notice as Harry's eyes began to flutter. He let his sneer transform into a smirk and he turned his hand that had a hold of the student, causing the robe to twist tighter around the neck of the light-headed Gryffindor.

"Don't pass out on me now, Potter," he growled. "I am not finished with you."

However, the body he had a hold of steadily began to feel more and more like dead weight and Snape's eyes flashed with an emotion that never graced his eyes in years. It was gone in the instant it appeared and he dropped the limp form back on the ground.

A few moments blew away by the October chill before Harry finally began coughing back into the world of awareness. The sixteen-year old resorted to just lying there, leaning on his left elbow while his right hand desperately massaged the skin covering his neck, trying to alleviate the friction burn. He was sure there was a blistering mark appearing around his neck, he could feel it; and he added it to the other likely bruises that had developed over the course of the night.

Meanwhile, Snape was pacing around Harry, staring down at him with dangerously flashing eyes. His claw-equipped hands were resting behind his back as he stalked and glared at the frail being resting below him.

Harry's eyes finally met Snape's and instead of allowing his eyes to express the fear he felt boiling inside him, he threw back eyes of utter defiance. The Head of Slytherin's actions were beyond un-called for in his opinion. Just wait until Dumbledore heard about this; Harry made a mental note of it.

What courage he had left, swirling in small points throughout his nerves, was drawn up to his lips as he addressed his deranged professor once more.

"Was that _really_ necessary, Professor?"

Snape paused and glowered at the student he hated more than anyone in the world. At that moment, the Gryffindor guessed, the Potions master couldn't possibly hate him any more than he did at that moment; possibly more than he hated Harry's father even. The reply that came from the figure standing above him dripped with sarcasm and loathing.

"What this? This small, insignificant act of merciless rage and sadism?" He began pacing around Harry again, waving his arms in the air—robes billowing behind him with a strong force. "Was it necessary? Well… _Potter_, was it?"

Harry furrowed his brow. "What are you getting at?"

"Will Merlin ever grace you with the gift of intellect?" Snape huffed as he swooped down and seized Harry by his clothing again. The Gryffindor flinched on contact as he felt himself being lifted for what seemed like the millionth time that day. He was relieved, however, when he found himself only being rested up against a tree—rather harshly; but it was at least nowhere near as painful as the last three impacts. However, that did not stop the Potions master from drawing himself impossibly close to Harry. His crooked nose was inches away from the sixth-year's as both hands rested on either side of the young vampire's face. Harry could literally feel the irate energy coming off his tutor's aura.

"That act you pulled! The act that you have been pulling since your second lesson…" Snape trailed off.

Harry internally winced. He had been found out.

"Did you honestly think I did _not_ know? Do you really believe me to be thick-headed?" And the teacher paused. "…don't answer that."

Professor Snape turned his head and sighed heavily. He pulled himself up from leaning on the tree and began stalking around the clearing—for what time, Harry lost count. The raven-haired teen remained motionless, knowing all to well that the older wizard was far from finished.

"Do you at least remember what we discussed during your second meeting?" And Snape finally met Harry's gaze again. The student only nodded. This act of acknowledgement seemed to only fuel the Head of Slytherin's frustrations to the limit.

"Then what was the glorious reason in that sorry excuse for a brain of yours that made you think that you could guarantee an exemption from having to hunt?! Please, enlighten me. Daresay I am most enthralled to finally be able to come across this discovery of yours."

Harry couldn't help but hesitate. Although all conclusions he came up with seemed more than reasonable to him over the weeks, no excuse would be sufficient enough for Snape. The older vampire was clearly waiting for an answer and Harry had many to give, but all he could do was sum it up into four words…

"I didn't want to."

A raised eyebrow was added to Snape's expression and Harry could see the professor's jaw clench. The Gryffindor physically winced this time around. Usually, altercations with the Potions master never struck fear in Harry—just untamed anger; but after witnessing that the professor was also a dark creature and after having to experience first-hand what his attacks felt like, a compressing sensation twisted and curled all around the pit of Harry's stomach. It felt like indigestion—only worse.

Out of all the loud and violent replies Snape could have thrown towards the boy, he did no such thing. He only uttered one sentence.

"I think it would be best if I had you expelled…"

The words hung in the air long after they were spoken and Harry's heart sank into that rumbling pit. The mere thought made him sick every time he even contemplated it, let alone when it was actually fathomable. Hadn't he gone through enough torture from the threat of that word throughout all his years at Hogwarts? The fact that the teacher standing before him had the audacity to even tempt such a fate made Harry genuinely want to kill him; and his face portrayed his hatred with eerie accuracy.

Professor Snape paid no mind. He looked as though he couldn't care less. After he bent down to pick up a short, but thick, stick, he noticed Harry's death-glare and added, "Do you really believe you should not be expelled?"

The remark slightly caught Harry off guard. What kind of question was that? He wasn't going to let this miserable git confuse and get the best of him. If he was going down, he was taking Snape with him.

"What are you getting at, sir?" Harry spat out.

"What do you think I'm getting at?" Snape retorted as venom began to drip from the words he ranted out. "You always take for granted how everything is practically handed to you. Being what you are, you should not even be allowed to set foot on the grounds, let alone attend school anymore. What kind of reaction do you think the students and their parents would emit if word got out about what you are? I am sure you can still recall Lupin's situation when everyone found out what he is-"

"Thanks to you!" Harry shouted. How dare that man say Remus' name.

"Do not interrupt me, Potter!" Snape's face was burning with resentment. "You should be extremely grateful to Dumbledore for allowing you to come back to school. But screwing up like this… not even he can protect you."

"I believe you're throwing this all out of proportion, don't you?" Harry snapped. The incredulous look he received proved that Snape did not agree.

"Out of proportion? Well, let me put this in a perspective that even you should find impossible to misunderstand. What if your little episode tonight was diverted towards a fellow student in that castle?" He thrust out his arm, which still had a hold of the stick, towards the twinkling castle that stood a good distance away, hidden from view by the canopy of trees that had refused to shed their leaves. Snape's question trailed off and hung for a brief minute before he finished. "What then?"

Harry had no retort and he hated his teacher for it. Instead he just looked at the ground. Out of all the moments he despised being whom he was, this one made him despise it most. Why did everything in his life boil back down to the fact that he had to think about the rest of the world? What about him? When would his life be his and not everyone else's?

The smug look on the professor's face sent him off the deep end and he couldn't help himself from spewing his next set of words.

"Forgive me, _Professor_… but aren't you a vampire as well? How come you're allowed to be a teacher here?"

The nostril's attached to Snape's hooked nose flared and it looked like a geyser of retaliating remarks was about to blow its top. "Because, Potter, I actually know how to control my transformation. Tell me this, do you know how to transform at will? Do you have the strength to retain said transformation when you are excited?" Harry looked down again and Snape smirked. "Clearly not. And grace me with an answer as to whether or not you can harness the exceptional powers that are granted to the likes of us for the well-being of this school."

Harry clicked his teeth.

"I didn't think so. Where as I am an asset, you, Potter, are nothing but a dangerous creature…" and Snape's next remark shot past his lips like a cruciatus curse. "But you would not be if you'd put that ridiculous pride away, pay attention, and do as you're told for one damn minute!"

At this moment, Snape's hair flowed and swayed through a forceful wind that did not affect the rest of the clearing. It affected Harry though. He could literally feel the gusts brushing up under his robe, leaving goose bumps where ever they went. Could he ever possess that power?

Harry wondered at that moment exactly what his capabilities were now that he had this new-found curse, gift—whatever one wanted to call it; and to have a power as such and not be able to control it—the thought scared Harry beyond any comprehension. What if a student was his victim? Someone unable to overpower the dark side within him? If he thought he was famous for all the wrong reasons now…

The older vampire's response lingered in the heavy air, obviously waiting for Harry's reply. It was difficult to say and shameful to admit, but he had one—only one…

"You're right… What do you want me to do?" Harry sighed, hanging his head in defeat.

Snape paused for a moment, allowing the statement to sink in. The two quarrelling wizards never backed down to each other. Outside circumstances always forced one to stop fighting the other; danger of breaking more rules, interruptions from other persons, all seemed to just put the bickering on pause and set it aside, saving it for their next confrontation. The difference in Harry's tone and usual comebacks, needless to say, slapped the Professor in the face. Nevertheless, his steely resolve did not waver. Instead, he slowly walked forward towards the younger vampire while rolling his own sleeve up to his elbow.

Harry's right eyebrow shot up in the air as he questioned his instructor's reaction. Was the guy really going to hit him again? Luckily, Snape did nothing of the sort.

What the Potions master did do, however, caused the sixth-year to flinch. Snape drew up the twig that was clenched in his right hand. Right before Harry's eyes, without any word uttered, the frail bit of wood transformed into a sturdy, gleaming dagger. The Gryffindor could barely watch as the Head of Slytherin dug the tip of the blade past his skin and twisted it a little for good measure. Next, he ran the knife across from left to right, opening a clean-cut door for his blood to escape. Harry chocked back chunks as he immediately recalled a similar situation he endured in an unforgettable graveyard.

Snape completely disregarded the student's unsettled response as he shoved his wrist in front of Harry. The poor raven-haired teen's mind was mixed with a sense of nausea, confusion, disgust and hunger. The funny thing about it was it seemed like his teacher picked up on all his emotions.

"Believe me, Potter, this isn't a walk in the Quidditch pitch for me either. I'm not exactly thrilled at the thought of saving you from this torture. I feel you deserve quite a bit more. But the only way to progress is this. Your transformation did not fully retract. The only reason you feel like yourself is because I had beaten you into to a bloody pulp and your body is too weak for your vampire blood to take over. But if you do not receive nourishment of some sort, even the low amount given from blood of another vampire, your blood will boil with the next opportunity to take over once more… now drink, so we can end this charade _and_ this lesson."

Harry coughed out a gag. He couldn't help it. The thought of Snape helping him, let alone him having to put his mouth on the creep's skin, was churning his stomach to unbearable measures.

The sixth-year reluctantly pulled himself forward, closing his eyes and revealing the gleaming daggers inside his mouth. When his lips first grazed against the older wizard's blood-drenched skin, he immediately wanted to fly backward. However, the scent of the copper fluid was intoxicating and his senses picked up on it all too quickly, forcing him to remain still and continue. He had to admit the warm liquid slid past his throat like silk and strength just seemed to follow as it flooded through his body.

Unfortunately, the relief lasted only for a brief period. As soon as the waves of nourishment pushed through his veins, an electrifying current followed suit, leaving nothing but an uncomfortable, cramping sensation. His insides felt like they were boiling and the more the pain grew, the more he felt the blood rushing to his head.

To add to matters, his scar felt like it was pulsing, ripping open and creating a fresh wound. He felt like he was going to explode. And just as the ignition felt as though it would soon erupt, his world went dark, his mind collapsed… and so did he.

* * *

Did everything have to hurt so much? He wondered if there would ever be a peaceful moment in his life when absolutely nothing hurt, physically or mentally. Tons of incoherent thoughts ran through his head. What happened after his lesson last night? Where was he? Was he still outside? He already knew he was lying at that moment—where ever he was.

He wanted something to move, but his brain was fighting against it. Was he paralyzed? That couldn't be right. He could feel the inviting warmth of a soft object draped over him. Maybe he was too weak. He tried something simple—a pinky finger. It seemed easy enough… but not likely.

Harry mentally sighed as he began to steadily open his eyes. The bright light burned them back shut. He started off even slower on his second attempt, letting the flood of the rays from the sun seep gently between his eyelids.

When his eyes finally adjusted, sweeping away all of the blurred images, emerald met sapphire.

Usually the orbs staring back at him would have a twinkle to rival an unclouded night sky; but this time the azure objects of sight towering over his sprawled-out form were clouded as if a storm was brewing within them.

He knew the one and only reason as to why the Headmaster would appear so upset… Snape had told Dumbledore everything. At that moment, Harry contemplated whether or not there would ever be a moment where he couldn't possibly grow to hate the Potions master any more; but with every passing encounter it seemed like his limit of loathing was always pushed even higher.

Dumbledore's shrouded gaze lingered over Harry for what seemed like eternity. The Gryffindor couldn't bear how eerie it felt as it burrowed through him, almost into his soul he thought. He closed his eyes once more but still couldn't brush away the creepy sensation. He was set in the decision of lying still and remaining silent, waiting for the shameful encounter to pass as quickly as it could.

However, as the minutes began to take their sweet time in ticking by, like watching them melt together into sand and slowly slip through the thin waistline of an hourglass, Harry began to wonder if the man would say anything. Confusion got the best of him as he pulled one eye open and looked up at the old wizard to see if he would ever make a move.

To Harry's relief, or displeasure—he wasn't sure which—the regally robed man before him still stood in the very same spot that Harry's eyes last left him; but this time, his stare was turned elsewhere. Curiosity filled the sixth-year's senses and he tried to lift his head up to see just what had a hold of the Headmaster's attention. The strain on his head was painful to say the least, but the sight he saw caught him so off guard that all discomfort flew out the window.

A subconscious part of his brain made a mental note of realizing that he was obviously in the infirmary as Harry's crystal-green orbs scanned through the medical facility and fell on top of a fellow student who also seemed to be suffering a fair bit. The Gryffindor's eyes widened as he witnessed his Slytherin rival perched on the side of a cot that sat directly across the room from his own.

The blonde-haired boy took no notice. He was too busy hacking up a great deal as he hunched forward. The shaking fit that the teen was enduring sent chills down Harry's spine. So he was right. Something was wrong with Malfoy!

Madame Pomfrey was already on the scene and was leaning over the blue-eyed student in seconds. Since when was his eyes blue? Since when did Harry notice, or care?

Nevertheless, it seemed like the boy did not want anyone near him because the hand he was previously using to cover his racking coughs was immediately thrown up, warning her to proceed no further. Of course the proud woman did not take 'no' for an answer and continued to try and tend to the sixth-year Slytherin.

Her attempt was thrown back in her face as a strong gust sent her backward. Luckily the neighboring cot behind her caught her fall and she landed softly on the mattress; but that didn't wipe off the astonished and almost hurtful look that painted her face.

Draco looked up for the first time since Harry noticed him and—completely oblivious to his audience—glared at the MediWitch.

"What part of get your hands off of me do you not understand?" he barked. It was a bad move, because he was instantly attacked once more with a hacking fit.

Harry couldn't believe his eyes. What was wrong with the guy? His directed his curious, green eyes back to Dumbledore, for the Headmaster was now advancing on the situation.

The Professor was as calm as ever when he spoke, but the warning dripping out of mouth was all too clear behind his benevolent demeanor.

"Young Malfoy, I am deeply pained to see you suffer so much, considering your circumstance."—Harry raised an eyebrow—"But wouldn't it be wise not to reflect it upon those who have no part in it, especially those who are only trying to help a _student_, such as yourself?"

The Slytherin turned his head to the left, almost in a sinister manner, considering the way his hair fell in front of his blazing orbs. His replying glance seemed to dare the Headmaster to continue with his subliminal threats.

"I don't need any help," was what Malfoy's lips oozed out.

Harry could literally feel the dangerous aura; and the slick sheen of sweat that covered Malfoy's sickly-pale skin like a thin film only made the boy appear more menacing. Even Madame Pomfrey took notice and slowly rose from the bed and began to step away from the teenager.

Dumbledore, of course, paid no mind to the Slytherin's antics and engaged in—what seemed like to Harry—a silent war between the two wizards' dead-locked gaze.

Malfoy eventually looked away letting his wild eyes fall onto another object in the room…

Harry.

To say that the change in his demeanor was a complete one-eighty was an understatement. The moment cerulean met jade, the blonde-haired wizard almost pulled back and his hostile aura shrunk away.

Upon realizing who else was accompanying him in the room, Malfoy immediately shot up from the bed, receiving a shot of agony up his spine as a result; but even that didn't appear to slow the boy down. He looked determined to no longer remain in the infirmary.

All fear aside, the moment that Madame Pomfrey realized that the fussy student still needed medical assistance, she scooped herself up off the bed and drew her wand ready to look over Malfoy once more. The blonde teen was not amused and drew his wand in response, accurately aiming it at her throat.

Dumbledore was already on the scene and almost glided towards the Slytherin, reaching him in mere seconds. The boy seemed to expect it and turned his weapon onto the old wizard. His eyes were blazing and his knuckles were white. Even knowing the Headmaster's reputation of power and the fact that the man had a few good inches above him, Malfoy did not waver.

"I told you, I don't need any help! Don't touch me and leave me be!"

Harry could hear the strain in his enemy's voice. His words were laced with panic and the blue-eyed Slytherin was shivering an awful lot. Was he really that ill?

Without another word, the quarreling, young wizard swept up his robe and swept out of the room in—what appeared to be—the most Malfoy-ish way the teen tried to muster up; although he stumbled quite a great deal as he exited and slammed the door shut behind him, leaving only three occupants in the hospital wing.

After the ear-splitting slam of the wooden doors, silence enveloped the room again—just as it did when Harry first woke.

Madame Pomfrey immediately regained all professionalism and dusted off her nursing apron, fixed the dressings on her hair and quickly dismissed herself to her office, closing the door behind her with an echoing sound that could have outdone Malfoy's departure.

This left Harry to finally be alone with Dumbledore and the atmosphere almost instantly re-directed itself to the one that the Gryffindor was incased in moments before he had witnessed Malfoy's act. A slithering feeling ran up his skin and he almost wished for an encore performance from Malfoy just to slice through the tension that was currently welling up between Headmaster and student.

He mentally sighed and stared at the bed sheets covering his body, waiting for the impending lecture that he knew was coming...

**_To Be Continued..._**

**Tiger Heart: (cracks whip) Did I say you could stop working!**

**Slythindor: (glares) Don't make me bite you...**

**Grifferin: Why do I have to work? There's no fluff yet! (whines)**

**Slythindor: (looks at Grifferin, smirking) Because you are my bitch! Mwaahahahahaha!**


	11. Changes: Unlikely Savior

**Harry Potter and the Love of a Veela**

**Chapter 11 – Changes**

(_Giving In, Part 2 - __Unlikely Savior_)

By: Schittlez

The heat was unbearable. His heart was an active volcano, sending massive amounts of lava swimming through his veins. On top of that, the burning soot seemed to travel to his lungs at an alarming rate. His throat had already started to singe from the hacking he had to endure sending all of that fiery smoke up to his nose. He would give anything at that moment to stop breathing.

… Scratch that. Just send a killing curse his way. He wanted to snuff it as soon and as quickly as possible.

Draco had no idea how he made it from the Medical Wing to his dungeon dormitory, but there he sat on his bed, heaving in breaths that burned his chest every time he inhaled. At least the room was unoccupied by any fellow Slytherins. The day's lessons were only halfway over, which meant the Slytherin common room was almost completely empty as well; save for a few bodies. He had spent half the morning in the infirmary upon the insistent request from Professor Flitwick during his Charms lesson. Draco didn't mind. The lesson was far too easy anyway.

Another shaky breath entered his lungs and it ignited another fit of debilitating coughs. The agony was too much and Draco gave way to gravity, falling on top of the mattress. The bed jerked underneath the pressure of a few more hacks and finally settled once Draco felt that the wave had subsided; but the moment when that source of noise faded in the air, another audible burst erupted from a different section of the room. The sound of his door slamming had Draco grudgingly pulling himself up off the bed and glowering at whoever disturbed his first peaceful moment in weeks.

He sighed when he realized his death glare would get him nowhere when the intruder was none other than his Head of House. Draco groaned exaggeratedly, collapsing back on the mattress once more, arms spread out and blonde strands of hair sprawled in all directions underneath his head.

"Skipping classes?"

The blonde Slytherin scoffed but didn't bother lifting himself from his comfortable position. The cold sheets were welcomed by his sweltering skin. "Madame Pomfrey excused me for the rest of the day. You can ask her yourself."

Draco caught the sound of his Professor's footsteps clapping along the hardwood as he approached his student.

"Was that before or after you physically attacked her?"

The teen graced the Potions teacher with the sight of his face. "You heard?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You expected me not to find out?"

"No. I _hoped_ you would not find out."

"Well, you know better than anyone to even tempt such emotions. As such, your well-deserving punishment will be administered in due time. The case in point, which is why I am seeing you during my free period instead of grading essays, is this illness you've found yourself under."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I've not fallen ill. Just a little under the weather—I'm fine."

"How I wish it was that simple; then I wouldn't have to be setting myself behind schedule in setting up next semester's curriculum by seeing to it that your 'problem' is taken care of."

"Please, don't let my little issue interfere," Draco shrugged as he waved his hand; but Professor Snape seemed intent upon staying right where he was. "Honestly, sir, it's nothing. I'll be back in class first thing tomorrow. I just need rest, is all." However, as soon as that statement was uttered, the teenage wizard's chest shook violently once more as he gagged on more burning coughs.

"Once again, how I wish," Snape drawled as he drew out his wand, muttered a few silencing and locking spells upon the dormitory entrance and moved closer to the occupied four-poster. "But it seems that if we do not start to resolve this matter, you might not find yourself taking classes for very much longer."

Draco involuntarily wiped his hand across his mouth before speaking, words coming out in pants as he regained control of his breathing. "What do you mean by that?"

"This really isn't my place. Trust me when I say I'd give my wand hand to avoid discussing this with you…" Snape sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Didn't your mother discuss the consequences that ensued once a Veela is unable to find his mate?"

Draco's eyes sparked at the mere mentioning of his mother. Despite how dysfunctional his family was his parents were still people that he had admired. Their high level of status and reputation was something he coveted and couldn't wait to obtain for himself. Now their name was tainted with scandal and he was the only one left. His parents were ripped viciously away from him and a mere teenager was left to do damage control amongst the scrutinizing eyes of the wizarding world.

All thoughts of mounting pressure and mourning were brushed away the moment the blonde Slytherin heard the faintest sound of one seemingly-impatient professor clearing his throat.

"Well? Did she?"

"…Yes," Draco hesitantly replied. He didn't like where this conversation was headed.

"How much?"

"What?"

Snape sighed again. "Did she give you detailed information after you fell into your inheritance about the guidelines and consequences in finding your mate, building a relationship with your mate and ultimately… _bonding_ with your mate?" The last part came out strained.

Draco couldn't believe his ears. What right did Snape have to bring this up? The blonde Slytherin's eyes changed from a very faint-blue, unclouded sky to a stormy-grey one. He even had half a nerve to shove his professor's words back down his throat with a scathing reply.

Of course he knew. He had been brought up to learn and discover almost everything being a Veela did—and would—have to offer. However, the only area that was still fuzzy was the topic of consequences for bonding, or not bonding, with one's destined mate—being a half-Veela probably did alter some factors also, he was sure. Not to mention his mother was primarily too busy moping while he fell under his inheritance, and therefore, 'final details' might have been left out here and there.

But it didn't take an Arithmancy Master to calculate what the fates had laid out for him if he didn't bond with his mate soon. He just didn't know the details of how he would meet his demise; but witnessing his mother leaving this world first-hand gave him a vivid idea of the possibility.

He knew discussing this with Snape was not a good idea, considering his situation; but the man was relentless at the very least. "I believe so."

"Think hard, young Malfoy. This is crucial for your survival."

Grey eyes darkened even more as he scrunched his eyebrows together. Since when did he need to relay his personal relationship with his Head of House? Thoughts of his meeting with the Headmaster and said Potions teacher flooded through his mind.

"Professor, I am in no condition to go diving into my brain to uncover the depths of its memories. I'm far too tired to even know what I'm thinking right _now_. Could we possibly conduct the rest of this conversation in a _blunt_ manner?"

"You are obviously having trouble finding your mate or else you wouldn't be currently suffering from Veela Separation Syndrome," the Potions teacher immediately spat out.

Draco snapped his head at Snape quicker than a spell cast. There was no way… "But sir… I-"

"Have you found your mate yet?"

The hesitation did not sit well with the Potions master. He shifted his full body to face Draco, urging him to answer.

"…Yes," the blonde Slytherin was reluctant to reply.

"Okay," Snape's drawl trailed off. "In any case, even if you hadn't found your mate yet, you wouldn't start to undergo the symptoms of this illness until two months before your next birthday anyway. The reason _I'm_ postulating is that you're having a hard time retrieving said person, am I correct?" Draco's silence that followed suit confirmed his suspicions. "They rejected you didn't they."

"He hates me is more like it…" the blonde teen immediately clapped his hand over his mouth. His eyes shot towards the other occupant of the room, who he could see was clenching his jaw. The room was devoid of any sound for a few more moments.

"…Granted I am aware that Veela have no sexual preference when seeking a mate, I prefer not to know any student's choice of flesh, whatever it may be." The blushing blonde merely nodded in response. "Either way, we must find out why _he_ is rejecting you… He must be openly doing it or else you wouldn't be suffering right now. Is it because he is not gay? I'm quite sure an ambitious character of your magnitude could corrupt him just fine."

The younger Slytherin merely let out a breath he felt he'd been holding for far too long. He was uncomfortable enough, having to relay his gender preference. Now the Potions master was discussing it with him as though they were merely giving opinions on wizarding politics while sipping tea.

The older wizard clicked his teeth, clearly annoyed with his pupil. "If I am mistaken, and I usually am not, were you not the one who said we needed to continue this conversation in a blunt manner?"

Draco hated it when he was right. "Yes, sir, but that is not the reason why."

"They why is this fellow student—he _is_ a student, right?"—Draco nodded—"Then why is this fellow student pushing you away so vehemently? I admit Veela have the tendency to pick the strangest of candidates as life partners. Sometimes their mates are real challenges to acquire. For example—like it may be in this case—they don't have a compatible, sexual predilection _at first_; but I've rarely—and I do emphasize _rarely_—come across references where one subconsciously selects an _impossible_ companion."

The young half-Veela glared at Snape, tempted with the information he possessed; but if what Snape said was true, did that mean that Harry must be…? Or could he turn out to be…? Impossible.

"He didn't reject me because I'm a guy. I probably couldn't even get that far. He hates me because I'm Draco Malfoy."

The Head of Slytherin merely scoffed. "Even so, I doubt even many _Gryffindors_ could refuse you if you applied yourself, simply because you _are_ Draco Malfoy. On top of that, although it is weaker than that of a pure-blooded Veela, you have the use of a lure. The only way I could foresee you never obtaining your mate is if he was, say… Ronald Weasley, or…"—Snape actually allowed himself to chuckle, albeit darkly, in amusement of the idea—"_Harry Potter_."

When Draco immediately started to become fascinated by the intricate, silver patterns woven into the black rug beneath his feet, Professor Snape's eyes went wide and lost all mirth. "It couldn't possibly…" Draco only shrugged in response, now playing with the edge of a pillowcase. Minutes snailed themselves across the room before the dark-haired wizard cleared his throat. "Well… which one?"

The young Slytherin let go of the satin material and began picking his nails, never looking his professor in the eye.

"…The latter of the two."

His sentence decided to hang around the suffocating atmosphere as he witnessed the teacher standing before him sport the reaction one would display when doused with a pail of ice water. Draco could even see the older man shiver.

"Well then… I guess this would be one of those rare, impossible occasions then." The blonde sixth-year frowned. Snape walked over to him and clasped a hand over the boy's shoulder. "Do yourself a favor. Just kill yourself now and get it over with." His tone was completely casual as if the suggestion was merely a simple one.

"With all due respect, that's not funny." Draco snapped.

Snape's face held no emotion as he replied, "Who said I was joking?" Though when the teenage-Slytherin's icy orbs retorted with a set of brass daggers, the professor sighed and finally sat down for the first time since he entered the room. "Alright, young Malfoy put the sharp eyes away… May I remind you that I am still your Head of House?"

The blonde student reluctantly tore his gaze off of his professor.

"To say that your situation is… _severe_ is an understatement. You need to find a way to resolve this. And unfortunately you have only one option if you want to make it out alive. I can't believe I'm even allowing myself to say this… "

Draco dreaded what would be spoken next.

"You must mate with…"

"Ugh—don't say it," the young Slytherin cringed.

"Mister Potter."

The way Draco's shoulders fell slack was a sign of defeat. Hearing someone else verbally draw out his situation made the voice in his head ring true for the first time in over a month… his mate _was_ Potter. What in Merlin's name was he supposed to do? What string of fate decided to tie those two together? And who had snockered themselves with Firewhiskey when they tied the threads?

Snape allowed the thoughts to seep into the boy's head before he continued with his proposal. "This choice is up to you of course. I have no say in your personal affairs whatsoever," continuing his statement with a muttered 'Thank Merlin'.

Draco was lost in a massive, swirling dilemma. Thoughts compiled together and flew through the winds of said-storm faster than a swarming band of insects. The blonde teen could even feel an agitating buzz picking up and humming against his ears.

"Young Malfoy,"—Draco raised his gaze upon the professor—"Do not take what I am about to grant you lightly. This is only because of how dire your situation is… not to mention it was mainly the Headmaster's idea. So, starting today, you are hereby excused from your courses for the period of a week. Within that time I advise you to take it upon yourself to gather your health back up by resting out this wave of illness and finding some _means_ to stop it from developing further," Snape said as he began to excuse himself from the dormitory. His emphasis on 'means' weighed on Draco's body like a lead weight.

As he released his spells and pulled the wooden door open, he turned his head to the side giving the boy a profile view of his face before adding, "The only obligation you have will be serving detentions as I see fit for three days out of this week, starting tomorrow. I suggest you get plenty of rest and report to my office first thing in the morning at seven sharp. Do I make myself plain?" Draco simply nodded, unable to argue any longer, and the Professor left without another word. Leave it to Snape to not make anything easier if he could get away with it.

When the Slytherin was left alone with nothing but his thoughts, he really began to wonder if he'd survive this year. One task that needed to be accomplished in order for him to survive conflicted with another and so on. What was the best course of action?

As if to respond to his queries, his body began shivering violently. The clammy feeling crawling all over his skin had not left him since it started up a few days ago. No matter how many times he stood in a shower or soaked in a tub the icky sensation never left.

Draco hung his head and sighed. If he didn't at least befriend Potter soon, he was dead. To believe that his life was in that wretched Gryffindor's hands. He hated Potter even more, already blaming the boy for everything else.

Storm clouds rumbled underneath his closed eyelids as he strained to find a proper solution. Could he even possibly reverse the rivalry that had been brewing since the moment he initially proposed a friendship between the two? He didn't have a choice. If he was to preserve his life and the Malfoy's legacy, he would have to change his demeanor around Potter.

Being nice to Potter… even contemplating it seemed to make his nausea increase; and yet, at the same time, some small shred of comfort settled in his chest, easing the tremors. It must have been because he was reassuring himself that his reasons were completely selfish. He kept chanting that mantra in his head as he feebly made his way over to the bathroom to take yet another bath, wondering where he should start. Turning Potter around, let alone getting the boy to be civil with him, would be the trick of the century.

Draco ventured into the dorm bathroom and as he stripped his clothes and slowly stepped beneath the steaming spray from the shower faucet, he also made a mental note to study further into his heritage. He needed to know every shred of detail there was to know about being a Veela so he knew exactly where he stood. If his mate was someone tolerable, he wouldn't have to even worry this far. Now, though, he was faced with a complicated situation and he needed to have the upper hand at every moment.

Encouragement swam over his skin just like the scalding liquid that swirled down his body. He leaned his head back and sighed, closing his tired eyes. He could do this. He was Draco Malfoy. Nothing was out of his reach.

* * *

Harry's trip to Gryffindor Tower seemed to take a lot longer than usual. It didn't help that his steps faltered and slowed quite often when his mind kept reflecting back to his encounter with the Headmaster, back in the Infirmary. The sixth-year concluded that when that man wanted to make someone feel a certain way, nothing could stop him. Guilt painted itself all over Harry's skin; he absent-mindedly rubbed the goose bumps off of his arms as he entered the common room, not wanting to do anything but go up to his room and back to bed…

"Harry!"

…It seemed like someone had other plans.

Harry looked up at Hermione, who was surrounded by books as she sat on the couch in front of the fireplace. Ron was sitting next to her, but didn't respond as lively. The red-head merely glanced up acknowledging that he realized the raven-haired teen had just entered the room, and then returned his attention to a book that Harry was sure he wasn't even reading.

The sandy-haired girl rushed over to him before he could even get three steps in. He halted his feet while she immediately grabbed his shoulders and looked him over. Merlin, she was as bad as Mrs. Weasley.

"Hermione, what're you doing?" Harry sighed, not wanting to be touched right now.

"Are you okay? Gosh, Harry, I was so worried. You didn't come back last night and you were gone all day. I tried to ask Professor McGonagall but she said she didn't know anything either and when we found Professor Dumbledore earlier before lunch, he said to merely wait in the common room after classes. And… and… oh Harry, what happened?"

"Breathe Hermione," Harry insisted as he grabbed her hands and pulled them off his shoulders. "I was only gone for one night." But Hermione's intense stare never wavered. "Look, training with Snape got a little rough and I fell unconscious—nothing to worry about," he quickly added when the bushy-haired Gryffindor's eyes went wide. "I've just been trying to learn a lot to prepare myself and I went a little over-board. I regained myself in the hospital wing and I'm fine. I even have permission to skive off tomorrow's classes to rest up a bit. See, no need to blow your top."

Hermione looked as though she calmed down a bit, knowing nothing serious happened, but her eyes still had that creepy, calculating gaze in them.

"Well, I don't think Professor Snape should be pushing you so hard. Yeah, we have a war to fight, but it's the year before N.E.W.T.s, you're the Quidditch Captain—" there was an 'hmph' in the background that went ignored by both Harry and Hermione, "—and you're teaching DA meetings again. You've got a lot on your plate Harry. You should be more careful not to stress yourself… If it's so bad that you have to miss classes to keep up your energy, then I think a re-evaluation of priorities is in order."

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course it would get back to the topic of school. "Her-mio-ne," Harry pulled out his infamous whine that always got the girl to cave in. "I _know_ all that, alright? But right now, I don't want to _think_ about all that. I just want to go up to my room and pass out, okay?"

The brown-eyed girl seemed to be having an internal debate, but immediately softened when she saw the pleading look in her friend's tired eyes.

"All right," Hermione sighed. "But you're not in the clear yet. I want you to take more caution. You have your health to think about you know."

Harry humored her with a smile before scooping up her hands in his and kissing the back of them. Once again, the girl softened even more. "I know. I promise. Just, starting tomorrow, okay?" Hermione reluctantly nodded and let him pass so he could tread up the stairs to his dorm.

The hike to his bed was too long and he was more than relieved when he finally collapsed onto the wonderful mattress. So much so, he didn't even realize how fast he fell asleep. One second's worth of feeling the inviting blankets against his skin and Harry was lost to the realm of reality.

* * *

_The swirling, dark abyss was cold and cruel as it always was when he waited. He hated these particular dreams and yet, he yearned for them every night. He despised how it always started the same lonesome way; despised how he had to wait and when he _was_ fed up with being patient, he had no way of breaking free; but most of all, he despised how he nevertheless _chose_ to wait, like a loyal puppy who knew his owner would return. How _pathetic.

_Then, his sneer quickly faded from his pointed face as he felt a change in the aura around him. Once again, he was no longer blind to his surroundings. He could actually take in the fact that his surroundings were just black. The malevolent gusts stilled all around him and warmth started to spread over him. He knew what was coming next…_

_Just as Draco had suspected, it was not long before those familiar, strong hands wrapped up from behind him. _

"_We have to stop meeting like this," a voice purred in his ear._

_He could feel the amusement as the chest behind him rumbled from a small chuckle. Why couldn't he respond? He would gladly reply with a witty retort like, 'Well, if you prefer, we could always go to my room.' He opened his mouth and not one ounce of vibration would erupt from his throat. No matter how much he moved his lips, he could not create a sound. His frustration was getting the better of him. Being helpless was not his forte'._

_And just as he thought he might explode from the negative tension, his body was once again being massaged by the most unlikely person he'd ever thought possible. So what if it was just a figment of his imagination? It felt real—as if Harry Potter was really behind him, teasing every fiber in his body._

_The thought would have probably disgusted him a few months ago; but now, it was the most exhilarating feeling he felt in a long time. Firm hands worked gently along his frame, tracing his arms up and down, then pulling behind him to knead and rub his back; and he could only help but gasp when they ever-so-slightly grazed across his arse as they wound back around to his stomach._

_He tilted his head back just a bit, relishing in the heat that swirled and traveled behind the path of those talented fingers. They were currently underneath his shirt, working up towards his neck. The tip of one of the digits brushed past his nipple and it took all of his strength not to fight against the bonds that held him incapable of turning around. He was left to suffer. Suffer from whatever explorations his mate wanted to venture towards._

_Mesmerizing hands reached their destination—Draco's shirt pulled up along with them—trailing along his collarbone; and just as he began to sigh and relax against the touch, a pair of soft lips joined the fingers, planting sizzling sensations on top of Draco's shoulder. The blonde Slytherin bit hard on his lip as Harry's tongue licked and his teeth nipped at every inch of skin, from the nape of his neck to the back of his earlobe._

_Did he have to be subjected to this torture every time he had this dream? Would there ever be an outlet? The swell in his pants prayed to Merlin that there would be; and as if someone had tapped into his mind, he got his break…_

_Unfortunately, it wasn't the one he was hoping for._

_Draco knew something was wrong when the air around them changed once again, which never happened until the dream state he was trapped in would begin to dissipate. Though this time, the feeling among the wind was completely different. Different from the beginning, where he could feel the abyss he was engulfed by—and different from the heated rush that swept through when he was tugged away from his mate and out of his subconscious surroundings… out of his dream._

_This aura was just… unusual. And scary. Definitely scary._

_Unnoticed as it always had been this year, the blue tint that created a film over grey eyes faded away and stormy clouds took over Draco's objects of sight once more as uncertainty filled his thoughts—and he had good reason to._

_The palms resting on his shoulders that were once slightly warm were now clammy and hot. Hands that were once gentle gripped harder than the blonde teenager was comfortable with; and arms that were once inviting were frightening as they reached out and clenched tighter—one wrapped around his torso, the other, his neck._

_Draco let out a silent cry of protest. What was going on? Was Harry actually still behind him? Or had another, more deviant entity taken his place? The unnerving part was he could still feel the other sixth-year's essence but it was mixing with something else, something… darker. What was happening to the raven-hair behind him? Did he even want to know?_

_If the blonde could emit any type of noise at that moment, he would be shouting. His eyes grew wide as he felt his skin threatened to be pierced. Hot breath rolled over the skin of his collar. A low growl erupted in his ear as his throat was caged by a strong, unyielding hand._

_Draco's eyes darted here and there before finally closing shut when his neck was ripped into by unforgiving daggers. Everything exploded before him, bright and painful; a loud ring violently pierced his ears. So much pain! And as if the world around him housed protective instincts and decided enough was enough, he was tugged away from his mate once more. Seeing as how the monster behind him wouldn't give up without a fight and began raking its nails down his chest as he departed, Draco was more than grateful. Unfortunately, his Veela blood boiled with remorse and confusion. It didn't want to leave; couldn't seem to understand what was going on. Bubbling with every emotion known to one's human mind could be overwhelming. He wanted to scream the walls down…_

_And as a bright light filtered through the darkness, that he did._

* * *

Sweat streamed out of pale skin and drenched, blonde locks as Draco shot up out of bed; even the curtains draped over his sleeping area were unable to contain the dramatic sight. The blonde quickly fought to regain normal breathing, among other things. The last thing he needed was for people to become more suspicious of him than they already were.

A bare—or padded—foot hit just the right spot in the room, in front of the door, which creaked under any pressure, providing Draco with the evidence that someone was a witness to his—most-likely animated—reaction towards his nightmare; the remnants of which still permeated in his mind. His elegant hand pulled the hangings open just enough to see that the voyeur was none other than Blaise Zabini. The dark-haired, dark-skinned teen, whose haughty presence rivaled Malfoy's own, acknowledged Draco's return to the conscious world by turning his head towards him, his back still facing the disheveled blonde.

The quirk of an eyebrow and his fellow Slytherin merely faced the doorway once more and exited the room.

If the grey-eyed wizard had been in a right state, he would have dragged his dorm mate back by the collar and bonded him to secrecy with a little insurance in the form of threats devised from the darkest depths of his mind; but Draco wasn't in his right state of mind.

All he could focus on was his dream. It seemed so real; right down to the pain still throbbing in his neck. He absent-mindedly reached a hand up to it and rubbed—all the while thinking about what could have possibly caused his startling vision. Every thought that flooded in reflected on one thing… Potter.

Even though it was a dream, something about those dreams made him feel connected to that Gryffindor for some reason, as if it were a real, present vision shared by their minds. The only problem was if that _was_ the case, was the transformation that Potter subconsciously experienced something that reflected a real, physical issue? That alone was disturbing. Draco could vividly recollect the frightening aura that surrounded him—dark, lustful and painful.

Was Potter in some kind of trouble? Self-preservation in mind of course, Draco knew he needed to find out…

* * *

To say that Harry awoke with a start was an understatement. The moment his blood exploded with boiling pain, he shot up into a sitting position with inhuman speed. Sweat poured out in rivulets, soaking the clothes he'd yet to change out of since his return from Madame Pomphrey's ward. His arms quivered as they removed his shirt and began their feeble attempt of wiping his face clear of moisture.

What had his dream consisted of to make him react so?

As if waiting for that very question to be addressed, the trembling pain in his body gathered and centered into his stomach, and Harry involuntarily lurched forward wrapping his arms around his abdomen.

"Not now," he weakly demanded of himself. How could his body be so out-of-control so soon? He remembered Professor Dumbledore's words clearly during the agonizing lecture he received hours ago in the hospital wing; he was afraid he still wouldn't be able to get rid of the quiver that erupted whenever he recalled how icy the headmaster's eyes became when he calmly scolded him in a way only the Headmaster could achieve.

However, Harry was unaware that he was in immediate need of heeding the old man's orders to sustain his own control and prevent his vampirism from 'running amok' again—as the professor had worded it. He'd assumed he had at least a day or so to get used to the idea of hunting before his body would demand such foul nourishment once more. The screams of hunger inside him were proving his assumptions false, though, and were itching for a way to get what it needed. He had no other alternative this time, and, from the way he couldn't help but leer at the other sleeping occupants in the dorm, he knew he needed to get outside as quickly as possible.

Shoes and robes completely forgotten, the only thing Harry gave a moment's notice and went to reach for was his invisibility cloak. Doors were pushed ajar just enough for him to slip through and steps were leapt over three, four, five at a time as he kept nothing but his destination in mind. He wanted his hunger-driven body to focus on nothing else but its goal and not the minute-few, wandering bodies lingering in the halls, whose faces went unnoticed.

They were all food to his howling blood. It would be so easy to snip up an unsuspecting student—who would be too busy sneaking around themselves—or a hall-monitoring prefect and provide his stomach with quick relief. They wouldn't know what hit them. They barely registered him running, if that's what it could be called. It felt more like he was gliding past them; and when they did take notice, and turned in said-direction, he was already around another corner, through another door or down another staircase.

Recalling enough years' experience of staring at the marauder's map, Harry took the passage he knew would hold the least security while still giving him a short path to his destination. He breathed in the sweet scent of the night air as it slapped him in the face when he reached the clock tower courtyard, drowning out the scent of all the human blood calling for him back in the castle. His body seemed to twitch with disappointment and sped up in frustration. However, it only took mere seconds for elation to swell within him again as the scent of the forest, and its inhabitants, grew closer.

Harry's mind faded into darkness, growing blank as pure, animalistic adrenaline began to take over. His speed and strength grew to unfathomable levels as he tore through the forbidden forest in search of the most gratifying game. His blood grew to melting temperatures; his eyes turned the darkest crimson they ever held...

... And Harry was lost to the world.

* * *

Draco had been on his share of hunts for potion ingredients. Some of them even led him to corners farther in the Forbidden Forest than some teachers have ever trekked; but this was ridiculous. The distance he had to travel and the _amount_ of different items labeled on the parchment list he kept pulling out of his robes was maddening. He was set out by Snape to begin his search the moment dawn broke over the horizon. Draco allowed himself a glance towards the sky when a clearing in the forest was finally reached and the canopy of trees broke apart, permitting him to do so. The sun bared straight down, perpendicular with the ground below. High noon, the Slytherin noted to himself. He had been at this charade for almost five hours!

He knew returning with spoils that amounted to less than what he was set out for would be far more than unsatisfactory for the Potions Master—not to mention, Malfoys never did anything half-arsed—but his body was screaming for a break. He knew sleeping the remainder of the day before would do little for his health, but Snape was treating him as though that was all he needed. Draco rarely thought negatively of the Head of his house, but a slight nerve was twitching to hex the man. Maybe a memory charm. Just enough to confundle him into forgetting that he ever assigned Draco detention.

Grey eyes darkened as he sighed, knowing that thought was impossible, but the need for a short rest was indeed in order.

The clearing he found himself surrounded in was by far the biggest he'd ever seen that resided within the forbidden land's borders. The treetops above held branches that were many meters in length, permitting little sky or sunlight to pass through, giving the illusion that the land spread out before him was smaller than it seemed. However, as he took in the meadow and realized just how far the tree-built perimeter truly stretched around him, Draco noticed that the clearing spread easily more than three times the size he originally assumed it did.

The ground beneath him was very uneven. Rocks covered with moss were expertly camouflaged within the surrounding grass they burrowed themselves into. Luckily some were bordered by flowers of various assortments, so Draco made sure to tread lightly around the small, circular fences of reds, yellows, blues, and violets.

He exhaled pleasantly when he came across a crystal-clear brook that trickled and flowed directly across his path. Setting his satchel down softly, he bent down and splashed the refreshing water on his face, wiping away any sweat and smudges that had collected from his trek through the woods. He was definitely taking a well-deserved soak in the prefect bathroom when he was finished with his business here. As he straightened himself up, something on the edge of the clearing caught his attention.

An object perched on a boulder.

It wasn't just any object. It was a cloak; one like he had never seen. To call it immaculate wouldn't have been an understatement. It would have been an insult. The material literally shimmered with power, calling out to him; and even though Draco noticed he was moving closer, it felt like it was pulling him rather than him walking. His hand was stretching out of its own accord, literally itching to touch it. The magical object before him was mere inches away from his fingertips…

And the fabric had just grazed his skin—the immense softness of it allowed to register in his mind for only half a moment—before he was ripped viciously away from it.

Five, very sharp points pierced through the skin of his back and hooked into place, yanking him like an object being summoned by an _Accio_ charm. His body sailed through the air before hitting a tree on the other side of the meadow and rolling back towards the ground.

The pain was intense… but the anger bubbling inside him was boiling over, beyond measure; and before Draco could even comprehend what was happening, his body began changing.

His eyes were shimmering silver as the pupils within them grew thinner and stretched vertically into two, little black slits. He could feel his nails stretching as well. Whoever had the audacity to toss him around like that, well, he wasn't planning on letting them live long enough to regret it.

He kicked himself up with amazing speed and turned towards his attacker, baring teeth that grew sharper by the second. Draco had already pushed up off the ground into a mad sprint before his eyes finally settled and focused on the extraordinarily daft victim…

…His feet slid to a halt. He was frozen in place; the only part of his body that moved was his heaving chest, trying desperately to reel in calming breaths. The picture before him was wrong. All wrong. There were too many issues about the sight standing in front of him for him to be able to determine which one baffled him most.

His attacker was none other than Harry Potter.

The fact that it was Harry Potter wasn't actually the confusing part. Potter always hated him and Draco returned the favor with ferocity. So, being attacked by him per say wasn't too hard to grasp.

It was everything else.

Potter did not look like Potter. Draco realized that early on in the year already; but this green-eyed wizard had now managed to stun Malfoy a second time. His eyes were blood red, almost glowing. His hands were equipped with claws—that would explain his bleeding back—and his teeth were more menacingly sharp than Draco's.

But Potter wasn't moving, which was the second peculiar thing. If he initiated the attack, why wasn't he continuing the fight? His body was crouched defensively but the raven-haired boy was stock-still and taut like a trigger, as if waiting for someone to pull it.

Draco decided to take this small moment in time—however long it would last—to gauge the situation better. He would have easily won the battle in his Veela form were it any other person, even with his change being a rushed, fraction of the actual transformation Snape had been teaching him to tap into. Normal full-blooded Veelas only transformed when provoked violently and had no control over their actions except instinctual behavior alone. Being that he was half-Veela, it didn't control his mental state as harshly and many meditation practices had went into his lessons with his professor to keep Draco's mind his own if he was ever provoked into becoming that infuriated.

Nevertheless, rushing into this fight would have been foolish. Power rolled off of Potter in waves as well. It made the blonde teenager's skin tremble slightly. Obviously, with this new information in mind, the wizard in front of him wasn't fully human either. Draco's stomach began to dip as he put all the physical pieces he was witnessing together into one full puzzle.

This being occupying the clearing with him was a vampire!

Thoughts of the entire school year that had passed by so far burst through his head. All the peculiar behavior, catching Potter out late at night in the halls, heading towards the forest, his meeting with Dumbledore when they ran into each other, his physical changes… and his dream last night. It was Potter's teeth that pierced his throat during his nightly vision. How in the _hell_ was Potter a vampire?

If the growling figure poised in front of him wasn't so intimidating, his rivalry attitude would have shot Potter's way for hurting him—and for muddying up his clothes. But he couldn't bring himself to retaliate. The pull in his chest moved in every direction, confusing him. It was tugging his malevolent thoughts behind and shoving his lustful ones forward.

Although now wasn't the best time for those. Potter looked ready to pounce the moment a leaf hit the ground the wrong way. Draco had to come up with a solution fast. The boy needed to calm down, to be brought back to his senses. Maybe then he could escape without being injured again. The twinge in his back was a lovely reminder of what Potter was now capable of.

Thinking through all of this took only a moment and it took only a fraction of that amount of time to remember Snape's suggestion of a lure. The only problem was he didn't want an irrational, bloodthirsty creature pawning after him; but he had to do something…

And then it hit him. If he could emit one emotion to seep into a person… why not another? He needed to focus carefully else he might not come out of this forest alive. He didn't want to close his eyes, but his powers of meditation hadn't stretched that far yet. He slowly slid his lids shut and concentrated. His Veela instincts were sitting there waiting for him to use them. He could see them plain as day within himself. However, it wasn't quite what he wanted. He needed to bring together the right type of thoughts when tapping into them.

He began to pull out his lure, yet centered on an entirely different emotion as he did so. It was mentally stressful to say the least. He thought of everything to make the emotion ring with as much power as possible. The emotion of calm and ease.

He couldn't tell what was happening around him as he was directing all _his_ energy into pouring _out_ energy. He couldn't even focus on whether or not it was working.

And then a '_thud_' resonated throughout the clearing. Draco waited a moment before allowing himself to see what had happened. When he did witness the result, he mentally sighed with relief. Potter was on his hands and knees, desperately trying to breathe. He seemed to notice nothing but the ground facing him. And was that a sob Draco detected? The shirtless wizard in front of him—why did he only now notice Harry shirtless?—punched the dirt beneath them, creating a small divot from the hole he just made. The half-dressed vampire shivered violently, but the blonde Veela was sure it wasn't from the temperature.

Draco couldn't stand to see this pathetic act of a breakdown much longer; it was too awkward to say the least, especially considering who was having it and who was witnessing it. He very casually cleared his throat to announce his presence but the other person's reaction to it was more than nonchalant.

Potter shot his head up, emerald-eyes as wide as galleons; more or less from being caught in such a state, Draco assumed. But said orbs grew even larger when realization dawned on the Gryffindor as to _who_ was watching him. And everything went downhill from there…

"What the hell are you doing here?!" Potter shrieked.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Hello, Potter, nice to meet you too. You know, the last time I checked, despite your arrogant displays of being a glory hog I don't remember you owning the Forbidden Forest as part of your list of achievements."

"That's not what I meant, Malfoy, and you know it! What are you doing here in this very spot? How did you find me?!"

"Once again thinking the world revolves around him. It wasn't like I was looking for you, you dense twit. I'm collecting potions ingredients, not that you would know what that looks like. You wouldn't be able to comprehend that even if a how-to manual slapped you across the face."

Potter's anger was increasing by the second. Draco could feel it. He knew he should be careful or else the Vampire in Potter would most likely come out once more, since he obviously didn't know how to control it from what Draco witnessed. Not to mention, his heart started clenching with every insult he threw at the boy and he could feel his sickness rising up once more; although it felt duller when the object pulling at his Veela blood was standing right before him. But he couldn't help himself. A few months worth knowing that Potter was his mate couldn't erase years of hating the git.

"How much did you see?" the question seemed to rumble out of the Gryffindor's chest more than actually come out of his mouth.

"Come again?" Draco threw an eyebrow up.

"How much did you see, damnit?!" Potter shouted, causing a few birds resting on the branches above them to take flight.

"Wow, Potter, that's the thanks I get for preventing you from rampaging through the school, hurting the other students, getting expelled and then sent to Azkaban for being an unregistered Vampire? Such an ungrateful, little vampy you are," the blonde Slytherin tsked in mock disappointment.

And instead of shouting more demands—or even threats—like Draco had expected, the color just seemed to drain from Potter's already pale face, if that were possible. He gave off a very transparent look; skin, eyes and all. He looked defeated. That was the best word Draco could use to describe it.

Then, without any hesitation, the sulking Vampire turned around, spared a partial moment to collect the cloak resting on the boulder and tore deeper into the forest quicker than a bolt of lightning, leaving Draco alone once more.

Unexpectedly, his body began to feel as empty as the meadow now seemed; as if it reflected his soul. Why did he feel this way? Damn Potter to hell, Draco cursed to himself as he slowly strolled over to the tiny brook to collect his satchel.

"_Um, why aren't you going after him?"_

"_Ugh, not you again… I thought I got rid of you."_

"_Very funny. You didn't answer my question."_

"_I thought my scathing welcome would be answer enough."_

"_You know resisting this is only going to kill you in the end."_

"_I don't care… If it was just about _any_ other person, I would go after them. But it's Harry-blooding-fucking-_Potter!_"_

"_You mean to tell me you didn't feel anything at all while he was present, here in the clearing with you?"_

"_I don't have to answer that."_

"_No, your refusal to do so is answer enough."_

"_I'm not going after him."_

"_Suit yourself. Kill yourself for all I care. Go be suicidal and self-righteous. Because that's what a Malfoy is really all about."_

"_You know, your skills in sarcasm are seriously lacking."_

"_Nevertheless, you know I'm right."_

Draco sighed and directed his feet in the direction Potter left. He could find him easily enough. All he had to do was follow the pull his mate was giving him. "Why am I doing this?" he inquired the trees that he past as he grudgingly sped up a little. If he didn't pick up the pace, he'd never catch up.

And all the while, pushing away brush and stepping over logs, he continuously muttered, "Self preservation, self preservation, self preservation..."

_**...To Be Continued...**_


End file.
